


He said, "I'm your biggest fan." She said, "Well, I'm yours."

by 1thirteen3



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dany is a pediatric surgeon, F/M, Fandom Things, Fluff, Jon is a trauma surgeon, Pining, Romance, alternate universe - modern AU, and also a huge fan of A Song of Ice and Fire, and also the author of A Song of Ice and Fire, online chatting, or kind of friends to lovers, stangers to lovers, sweet sweet mutual pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:07:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 73,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23041456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1thirteen3/pseuds/1thirteen3
Summary: Daenerys Targaryen is a Pediatric surgeon at Kings Landing Hospital.Though she’s better known (though not really at all known) to the world as D.S. Targ – author of the A Song of Ice and Fire series. On which the television show Game of Thrones was based.A show Dany hates. A show that butchered her books and had a finale so catastrophically far from her plan that she’s both devastated and angry.The final book in her series is due to come out soon, and all she can do is hope that the fans accept her ending as the real one.Jon Snow is an ex-army medic, and the finest Trauma surgeon in the country. After finishing his tours of duty a few years ago, he settled in Kings Landing to work at the Veteran’s Hospital – though he still performs surgeries in all the hospitals in the city.He is also a massive fan of the book series A Song of Ice and Fire.Outraged, and disappointed at how the television show ruined his favourite series, Jon spends his free time posting metas, analyses, and the occasional fanfiction about the books.A sweet, fun wee story about how these two ‘meet’, and meet, and fall in love.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 976
Kudos: 673





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> So this is just a sweet little story about two people falling in love - with a bit of fandom fun thrown in.
> 
> For the purposes of this story (because it worked better with the timeline), let's pretend that the A Song of Ice and Fire series is only five books. Four of them are currently out and the fourth one finishes at the same place A Dance with Dragons did.
> 
> Similarly, Game of Thrones is only five seasons long - but everything that happened in the show happened just the way it did.

Daenerys Targaryen was hiding. As usual. As was the new normal for her now.

She didn’t have to be – not really. No one knew who she really was. No one but the producers, her agent, her editor, and her best friend knew it was her. But recent events had made her anxious, much more so than usual. And so hiding within the safety of her home seemed, to her, the best, the only option.

Ever since the television show adaptation of her, nearly complete, fantasy novel series had ended – with a finale so horrifying that it depressed and angered her in equal measure – three weeks ago, she had been harassed mercilessly by the media via her agent, and on her social media account.

Not to mention the clusterfuck that was going on in the online forums: Was that really the ending he had planned for the books? Does he condone the ending? Why won’t he comment on it? What does his silence mean?

Article after article had been written online, in magazines, and newspapers condemning the finale.

_‘A legacy turned to ash – why Game of Thrones won’t live on’_

_‘Finale yet more evidence that Game of Thrones hates women’_

_‘Subversive? More like stereotypical: The powerful woman goes mad – Groundbreaking? More like heartbreaking’_

_‘Game of Thrones finale showcases peak misogyny’_

_‘Is this really how it ends? Why won’t D.S. Targ comment?’_

_‘Racist. Sexist. Meaningless. Why did we waste years of our lives watching Game of Thrones?’_

And she couldn’t agree more. She _loathed_ the finale. Indeed, she despised the show entirely.

For what felt like the billionth time she cursed her naïve, twenty two, and twenty five year old selves who had no idea of how the industry really worked, or just how brutal and cutthroat it could be.

The first of her planned five-part series had been published when she was twenty two, and to her immense shock, and pleasure, it had become a sensation. Basically an overnight hit. The first, relatively small print run had sold out in record time, and another, and then another, and then another run had been ordered.

She had been thrilled. She couldn’t believe it.

Writing had always been simply a hobby for her – something she used to clear her mind after grueling hours of study. She was not much of a sleeper, and writing fantasy had helped calm her mind in the early hours of the morning, helping her to escape from the daunting realities of university, her future, and her life (or lack thereof) in general.

She had written the first book on and off sporadically during her first four years at university. And she had written it for herself. She never expected anyone else to ever see it, except her dearest friend Missandei, a huge fantasy-lover like herself, who read whatever Dany wrote and was supportive to a fault.

And that could have been the end of it.

Given how things are going now, she sometimes wishes that _had_ been the end of it.

But twenty one year olds can be stupid. And one night, after they had both been drinking a little too much wine, Missy had loudly insisted that she send the book to a publisher. In her inebriated state, this had seemed like a brilliant idea to a younger Dany.

So, they’d emailed her manuscript to several publishers, drank some more wine, danced a bit, laughed a lot, then fallen asleep on the floor of the living room in their small, shared apartment. Waking the next day with raging hangovers, sore necks, and little to no memory of the night before.

It had all come racing back to her a few weeks later when she received a polite, but firm rejection letter from a publishing company.

It had stung a little, she wasn’t going to lie. But she brushed it off easily enough. She wasn’t a writer after all. She was training to be a doctor, a surgeon.

Two more rejection emails followed a week or so later, and she managed to brush those off too. So she was crap at writing. It was fine. Her suturing was getting better.

But a few weeks after that she received the email that would change her life. Lannister House, one of the biggest publishing companies in the world, wanted to meet with her to discuss signing her on as an author.

Everything after that had happened at a rapid pace. She’d attended the meeting trying to hide her shaking hands and sweating right through the most professional outfit she and Missandei had been able to put together from their combined, limited wardrobes.

Tywin Lannister, the editor and CEO of Lannister House was a hard, and imposing man. Certainly not one to cross.

He’d played hard-ball. Not that she’d known that at the time. She’d been so young. So nervous. And just so genuinely flattered that they had liked her writing.

She’d outlined for him the entire five book series. And he’d signed her on for them all. For an insultingly low sum of money. Not that she knew that at the time.

Besides, she was basically flat broke. She had a scholarship to attend med school, but she was still struggling to meet all her expenses. Any money was a lot of money to her.

It had been Tywin’s non-negotiable suggestion that she publish only using her initials instead of her full name.

“Fantasy is a male-dominated genre” he’d said. “No male is going to buy a fantasy book written by a girl. And girls don’t really read fantasy. If you use your name you will alienate the entire market we are wanting to reach. Also, your last name, it’s too unique. Can’t be too many Targaryens out there. We’ll go with a shortened version. Targ. It sounds more masculine as well. Yes, you publish under D.S. Targ.”

She’d been younger, and way out of her element back then, so she hadn’t even snapped back at him for calling her a girl instead of the woman she was. Nor had she pointed out that many women, and girls loved fantasy just as much as men, and boys.

She also hadn’t put up a fight. In truth she liked the idea of anonymity. That way, when the book flopped, no one but her and Missy would know it was her shitty writing that everyone hated.

The second book in the series had been published a year later. Tywin had been adamant that it come out as soon as possible so as to capitalize on the buzz from the first novel. She could barely remember that year. She had been working her ass of at med school, and working her ass off to complete the book. If it hadn’t been for Missandei, she doubts she would have even taken a break to eat or sleep that entire year.

But the second book had received the same critical acclaim and overwhelming response from the fans, so she was happy and proud.

Tywin had let up a bit now that he could tell there was a captive market, and the third book – again welcomed, and praised by critics and fans alike – had come out two years after that.

She had been twenty five. The end of med school in sight, with an internship, and then residency already lined up at Kings Landing Hospital when she was approached with what she thought was an insane offer.

Two producers, Petyr and Varys (though she later came to call them Pretentious and Vapid to herself), wanted to turn her book series into a television series.

It beggared belief. She was flattered. And still so young, and still so naïve. And they said all the right things. They loved her books. It would allow her story to reach a wider market. A whole season for every book. They had a large budget and could make all the fantasy elements come to life looking as good as reality. Wouldn’t that be spectacular?

She’d told them she needed to think about it. It was a big thing they were asking. To take her story and tell it in a different medium.

She hadn’t had much time to think. Tywin had called her before she’d even managed to get home from the meeting and demanded that she accept their offer. It would be good for sales. It would be good for exposure. She would be doing this.

She’d grown up, and into herself more since she’d first met Tywin Lannister. But she was still not entirely confident standing up to him. She tried to ask him for more time to think it through, but he had cut her off and said that if she didn’t take their deal then he would fire her from Lannister House effective immediately, and that he would see to it that she would never get another publishing deal again.

As much extra work as it was, she loved writing her books. They were her escape. And she couldn’t stand the thought of disappointing the fans, who were already readily awaiting the fourth installment, by never being able to give them the ending. So, she relented and met again with Petyr and Varys, who she later came to learn were, surprise, surprise, very good friends of Tywin’s and he held shares in their Production Company ‘Little Spider Productions’. What sort of whacked out name was that anyway?

Both men had smirks on their faces at the second meeting, like they knew she had been backed into a corner (now of course, she knows that they did know that). They spoke fast, too fast, and used a lot of jargon. She could hardly get a word in, and didn’t understand half of what they were saying. At the end of the meeting, which was more of a duologue than a meeting, they handed her a thick stack of paper saying it was her contract and that she had to have it back to them in three days.

Well, fuck.

She read the whole thing five times, but still she could barely understand a word. She was broke, and busy with med school. She didn’t have the time or the money to hire a lawyer to look over it.

At least she had Missandei who had just graduated Law School. But Missandei was a Human Rights lawyer, not a Contract one, and she was strapped for time too having just taken up a position at the Freedom Foundation which worked to stop human trafficking.

Missy did her best, but she said that even for a contract this thing was convoluted and she couldn’t be sure about all the codicils, clauses, and small print.

After hearing that, Dany had been reluctant to sign. But a very ominous call from Tywin Lannister the evening before it was due changed that. She didn’t really have much of a choice. She signed.

They’d not stiffed her on the money for the rights. She could give them that. But later, once the show started airing, she really wished they had in lieu of leaving her with some form of control.

She came to realise, very early on, that she had signed away any veto rights she might have had. Essentially, they could take her story and do what they wanted with it. Leave parts out. Add parts in. Direct the actors and actresses to act entirely out of character. They had started out okay, but season by season they slowly morphed her story until the only thing she recognized of it were the characters names. And they even had the audacity to change some of them. The only thing she really liked about the show was the music.

But there was nothing she could do. Apparently, along with her complete waiver to her right to veto, she had signed a non-disclosure agreement stating that she was not allowed to comment on the show in any way, shape, or form.

She’d set up meetings with Tywin practically begging him to allow her to come clean about her identity. To tell her fans that she wrote the books so that she could clear up some of the misconceptions.

He had arrogantly reminded her about the anonymity clause in her contract with Lannister House (why the fuck had she been stupid enough to sign so many things she did not understand?). That she can only reveal herself once the series has been completed.

She’d sat in the lobby at Lannister House alone and miserable for some time after that meeting until, eventually, Tyrion Lannister, Tywin’s much nicer son, had approached her.

He knew what had happened, and he tried to encourage her to look on the bright side.

“Imagine what it will mean for all the young girls who have fallen in love with your books when they see what a success it was. They’ll know they can do it themselves.” He’d said, smiling at her encouragingly.

She was not placated.

“No, they’ll know it was only successful because I hid the fact that I’m a woman.” She replied sullenly.

Tyrion nodded sagely. “Okay,” he started slapping his knees with his hands excitedly.

“Then at least, if it tickles you, imagine the shock all the men who have fallen in love with your books will feel when _they_ find out it was written by a woman.” He says mischievously.

She has to admit, given some of the nasty, misogynistic things she has read written by male fans, that particular part _will_ be satisfying.

She’d not been mollified, but she knew she was backed into a legal corner. There was nothing she could do. So she got up and left, shaking Tyrion’s hand and thanking him for at least trying to cheer her up.

Over the next few years, as the fandom exploded thanks to the show, the pressure became immense. She was twenty seven, at the start of her residency, the third book had only just come out, speculation was running wild as to who she was, and Tywin was relentless about receiving the fourth book. Which came out when she was thirty and nearly finished her residency. Just before season four of the show aired – though not in time to save season four from what it became.

But in many ways those weren’t even the worst parts. No, what hurt the most was the way people reacted to her characters. She loved them all (even the ones she loved to hate), but she had a special place in her heart for Calliope. She was a female hero in a male dominated world. Something Dany herself would have loved to have read. But people hated her. They picked her apart, took quotes out of context and used these as evidence that she was awful, horrendous, a villain, mad.

She was flabbergasted. She didn’t think she could make it any more clear, without spelling it out in the simplest terms and spoiling the ending, that Calliope Alintaaviva and Tom Eis were the true heroes of the series. That _theirs_ was the Song of Ice and Fire. For fuck’s sake, it was in their goddamned names.

And now, here she was. The show was over, and her story was butchered. No matter what the fifth book said, there were going to be millions of people who would always believe that the show told the _real_ story.

She was utterly heartbroken.

There is only one book left to come out. It has been two years since she published the last one.

In her defense, it had been a very busy two years. She had been finishing up the last of her demanding residency and that had required all of her focus. As a pediatric surgeon there was absolutely no room for errors or mistakes. Parents trusted her with the most precious thing in their lives, and she did not take that trust lightly.

But now she has nearly finished the fifth, and final book. She just needs to give it a few more read overs, maybe tweak a thing or two, and it will be ready. She hopes it will change people’s minds about the series and the characters.

She knows she shouldn’t. She knows it is a terrible idea. She knows that it will do nothing to help the aching sadness, and intense frustration brewing inside her. She knows it will shatter what’s left of her fragile self-esteem right now, but she cannot stop herself. She goes on to the primary Game of Thrones online forum and checks what is being said about her work now.

She sighs despondently. More of the fucking same.

Threads with titles like:

_100 reasons why I always knew Callie was a psychotic mental_

_Tom is a hero for putting that crazy mad bitch down like the rabid dog she is_

_Callie is a foreign TYRANT a RACIST and a SLAVER_

_Lecia and Tom BELONG together #Tecia4Eva_

_Long live the ROLFES Jordan King of the Six Kingdoms and Lecia Queen in the North_

_Tom never even LIKED Callie he was just using her. When are you dumbfucks just gonna admit that???_

All with the same poorly spelled, and grammatically atrocious, sometimes essay length responses twisting words from her books, blatantly ripping them out of context, and using parts of the show that aren’t even in her books to make their vapid, hateful, wildly inaccurate points.

She scrolls listlessly for a bit until she comes across a thread title that catches her eye.

_A compilation of book evidence. Foreshadowing, prophecies, and symbolism: Why the books won’t end the way the show did._

She reads the meta and a small smile forms on her lips. Finally, amongst all the madness, there is someone sane out there. Once she is finished she checks the poster’s name and her smile broadens. It was posted by EisSnow.

Her knight in shining armour, whoever he, or she was. She really liked their username too, EisSnow. Ice and Snow. They were obviously a fan of Tom.

But they were clearly a fan of Calliope as well. For a few posts down there was another post by them.

_In defence of Calliope – evidence from the books showing she is a true heroine._

In this one they had tackled every sexist, misogynistic, horrible thing people had been saying about Calliope in a calm, intelligent, focused, caring, and detailed manner. She was thrilled to read it. Thrilled that not everyone had given Calliope up for dead, or mad.

She’d seen many of EisSnow’s posts before. They were something of a big name in the fandom. But that is not what was important to her. What mattered to her. What helped her breathe, and made her smile was that EisSnow, whoever they were, really _got_ her books.

It was like they could see inside her head, and knew what direction she was taking. She’d be worried her drafts had been hacked if her system wasn’t foolproof, they were that insightful. They never jumped to unfounded conclusions. They had picked up on every bit of symbolism not matter how small. They’d theorized, accurately, about the prophecies. They saw the foreshadowing for what it was, and what it would mean. They were amazing.

And they were so _nice_. That may sound lame, but in this fandom of hers nice was a rarity. And it was very much appreciated. Many other users often came at EisSnow with hate, and logic-less disagreement, but EisSnow always responded kindly and pleasantly. Stating that everyone could have their own opinion (so long as it wasn’t given in a way that insulted, or offended other people), and that this was simply theirs. They never descended into the petty brawling and bitching. When a conversation got heated or cruel they excused themselves from it politely saying that they would not be party to bullying and implored others to cease doing so as well.

She didn’t use her official, Authenticated D.S. Targ username very often. Tywin wanted her to, he said it would be good to keep interest alive and sales up – but she hadn’t wanted to be involved in all the drama that often devolved into chaos and name calling. Plus, she didn’t want to give anything away, and she knew that if she commented positively on someone’s post people would take that post as gospel from here on out. Then they would twist that post to suit their own agenda.

But a year or so ago she had come across one of EisSnow’s metas. It was a simple thing using evidence from the previous two books showing how they related to an incident in book three to highlight how foreshadowing was a crucial part of the series. It did not speculate beyond that point in the books. Everything they had said was already confirmed, and the analysis was so well written that she had felt compelled to comment.

**D.S. Targ (Authenticated):** This is a wonderful deconstruction of the text, with excellent examples used to emphasise your point. This post demonstrates a clear, unbiased understanding of events. Thank you for reading and appreciating my novels. D. S. Targ.

Their response had been heartwarming, sweet, and she had to admit, a little amusing.

**Reply by EisSnow:** Oh wow. Oh. Oh. Wow. Just, ummmmm. Wow. Is that really you? Wow. Ah, thank you so much for replying. And for what you said. And for writing your books. Wow. I, ummmm, I don’t know what to say. I’m a huge fan. Thank you.

It turned out EisSnow wasn’t quite as articulate when caught off guard. But she couldn’t fault them for that. She did so rarely respond to anything on the message boards.

But, of course, over the next few days anarchy ensued. Fans, as usual did that thing where they twisted EisSnow’s words into something they were not to suit their own means, and then used her approval of his post as vindication that their own outrageous theories were correct.

But worse than that, they had really come at EisSnow. Bullying and harassing them. Saying they faked her reply themselves to get attention. Called them a phony, and much, much worse names.

She felt horrible. That was not what she had wanted. She had just wanted to show her support to someone she knew was a true fan of her books. And besides that, as she’d said, EisSnow was nice. They didn’t deserve this, and it was her fault it was happening.

She’d learnt her lesson and didn’t reply on the public forum. Instead, she’d sent them a private message (she could do this, fans could not send them to her unless they were replying to one she’d sent them – thank God, otherwise her sanity would be in tatters. She couldn’t even look at her Twitter).

**Private Message From D.S. Targ (Authenticated):** I am truly, very sorry for the commotion, and harassment my reply has caused for you. You do not deserve that. You write wonderful, thoughtful posts. I do hope this experience has not discouraged you. Thank you again, for being such a wonderful fan. And, again, I am so sorry for what you had to deal with. D.S. Targ.

They had replied almost immediately.

**Reply to Private Message from D.S. Targ (Authenticated) to EisSnow:** I still can’t get over the fact that it is really you. That D.S. Targ replied to me. Thank you for your apology, but it is really not necessary. Seeing that you liked what I wrote put me in such a good mood that I’ll probably be able to ride on it for the rest of the year _at least_. I like to stay out of the drama. I just want to appreciate the books. So no, I am not discouraged. But it was very nice of you to care. Thank you again, for writing your books. And again, I am such a huge fan. Thank you.

Pulled from memory lane she goes back to scrolling. More backlash. More hate. More fighting. But then she sees another post by EisSnow. It is a link to a fanfiction they had written called ‘Theirs was the song, and they would sing it together’.

She knows, _knows_ she shouldn’t, but curiosity gets the better of her. EisSnow seems to get her characters so well, she wants to see how they do at writing them.

She clicks the link.

It is a Tomiope story she notes with a smile. She might have guessed based on the title, and from some of their other posts… but you can never be too sure in this fandom. People really do have a way of warping things to meet their own desires. But not EisSnow. No, they are true, and genuine.

It’s a 10K one shot detailing the meeting of her two heroes, their subsequent conversations and concessions, their burgeoning love, their realization of their joint destiny.

It is beautifully written. So beautiful in fact that she is glad that she has already written the last book lest she be tempted to pluck something out of EisSnow’s fanfiction and steal it for herself. Not the she ever would. But she cannot deny that this person can write. And write well. She’d love to be able to comment on it, but she knows she cannot. There’s always a chance, no matter how small, that someone might track the comment back to her.

And she cannot out her endgame. Tywin has made that more than clear.

She closes her computer and sighs again.

If only all fans were as wonderful as EisSnow.

Jon Snow is a former army medic who had moved up the ranks to become one of the best trauma surgeons in the country.

He’s retired from the military now and lives in Kings Landing where he has surgical privileges at all of the cities hospitals. However, after knowing how traumatizing the battle field can be – both physically, and mentally - from unfortunate personal experience, his main work is at the Veteran’s Hospital specializing in recovery and rehabilitation with the help of his beloved companion, and trained service dog, Ghost.

But today is his day off, and he is bored. So he does what he always does.

He logs on to his favourite Game of Thrones forum with his username EisSnow. He doesn’t know why he keeps doing this to himself. Really he doesn’t. Not after the finale had destroyed him emotionally. But he cannot seem to help himself. He’s too invested. He’s been too invested for years now.

He hadn’t always been a huge fan of the fantasy genre, so when the first book of the Song of Ice and Fire series came out while he was on his first tour as an army medic and he’d been sent it as a birthday gift from his little sister Arya (who _was_ a huge fan of the fantasy genre) he hadn’t thought much of it. But he knew she would pester him about it when he was next home on leave, so he read it. Then he read it again. And again. And again. He couldn’t get enough of it. There were many nights during his time in the army when he was alone in his bunk, missing home, or longing for something that he couldn’t quite name that he would pull out the book and read it again. Sometimes it felt like the only thing getting him through to the next day.

He had really related to the Tom Eis character – battle scarred, a little broody, desperate to find himself and his place in the world. And while he wasn’t a bastard he didn’t have a mother, for she had died giving birth to him, and he had been raised by his father and step-mother (who was not a big fan of him), alongside his half-siblings. They were all wonderful of course, but there had been times when he felt out of place, that he didn’t quite belong. He supposes this is part of the reason why he joined the army to begin with. In the hopes of finding a family he fit in with completely. And in many ways he had.

He was also a massive fan of Calliope. She was so smart, and brave, and fierce. All of the things he loved in a woman. And she was indisputably a hero. A flawed one, yes, just like all of the characters were flawed (that’s what made them so compelling). But she had compassion, a beautiful heart, a motivated desire to do good and leave the world better than she found it, and that made Jon love her. She had been through so much, and made herself stronger for it. A hero in every sense of the word.

He hadn’t known it at the time, this being the first fantasy novel he had ever read, but women were rarely, if ever, protagonists, even in their own story. They were rarely, if ever, the hero. But he knew Calliope was one. Which is why, he’d been so shocked, and frankly offended, when he’d first stumbled upon a forum filled with vitriol, and vehemently disturbing hate all aimed at Calliope. Post, after post. Essay, after essay saying she was entitled, annoying, narcissistic, a villain, and absolutely, definitely, 100% destined to go mad like her father.

Were these people even reading the same book as him?

He’d closed the browser and resolved to stay out of it all.

He’d been on leave when the second book came out, and he and Arya had waited in line for hours at the local bookshop so that they could be the first ones to get the book as soon as the hour of release arrived.

They’d rushed home and devoured it. Stopping only occasionally to shovel food in their mouths. Refusing to look at one another in case they were up to a different point in the story and they’d unintentionally spoil a plot point for the other with any micro facial expressions.

Once they’d both finished they’d stayed up for hours discussing every detail and exchanging theories. It was at that point he realized just how deep into this world he had fallen.

He was back on tour when the third book came out. But Arya, blessed, darling Arya had express couriered him a copy. She’d absolutely plastered the already paid for express bag with additional stamps, so that every inch, but for his address was covered in them. Clearly she thought that might help it get to him faster.

He’d adored her thoughtfulness until he’d called her from the base phone after finishing the book and she’d told him, rather bluntly, that she’d had purely selfish motives. She needed him to get the book as soon as possible, so that he could read it as soon as possible, so that she could discuss it with him as soon as possible. They’d both laughed and then delved immediately into that discussion. As always, coming up with their own theories and rationales for the characters’ behaviours, thoughts, and actions. Both of them impatient for the long awaited, and foreshadowed meeting of Tom and Calliope as they were both so sure the pair would have as epic a romance as they would adventure.

It was then that she’d told him that a television series of the books had been announced, and would probably air at the beginning of next year.

The beginning of next year… he’d be home for good by then. His duty over. His tours served. But he didn’t know how he felt about a television series being made of his favourite books. He’d read them so many times, discussed them for hours, he had such an idea of the world and the characters in his head. What if the show fucked them all up?

In the end, he watched. Of course he did. He was a fan. More than a fan really. He was a tad obsessed. And this was an adaptation of his favourite thing. So he watched, and so did Arya. He was twenty six and had moved to Kings Landing to work at the Veteran’s Hospital, and she was still in Winterfell so they watched together over the phone.

At first they loved it. Yes, there were some things that were a bit different, a bit off. But all in all it was a fun and engaging experience watching the story that had taken over his life play out on screen.

But then, season by season, the show had gotten worse. The characters were wrong. The storylines were messed up. Important pieces had been left out and discarded, while ridiculous, often disturbing, unnecessary things had been added.

It was when the show really started to turn to shit that he started to wonder about the author of the books, D.S. Targ. He was entirely elusive. A ghost really. Never gave interviews, or made appearances at conventions. Never did signings or readings. Nothing.

He did have a Twitter account, though it was rarely used and mainly functioned as a platform for rabid, or angry fans to @ him demanding the next book be released, complain that their favourite character wasn’t featured enough, or straight up tell him how to write his own books.

But D.S. Targ had never said a word about the show. He wondered what he thought of it.

He, himself, hated it by now. Not that that stopped him watching. He was optimistic. Maybe they could turn things around.

But after finishing the fourth book in record time, and then starting watching the fourth season and seeing just how far the show had deviated from the books he had had enough. He had to do something.

He wasn’t going to give up his favourite series. But he felt compelled to defend it somehow.

So he’d made his way back to the forum he’d visited a few years ago, signed up for an account under the name EisSnow (he liked the congruence of his handle, even if he was just using his own last name), and began posting metas and evidence-based connections.

Fandom, he soon found out, was a mean business. People were petty and rude, and often ignored reason and _actual fucking evidence_ just to make their own asinine points. But he ignored all of that. He was thirty years old, he wasn’t going to engage in mud-slinging with what must be children given the way they threw hissy fits (not to mention their spelling). He was just going to enjoy writing analyses of his favourite books. And he really did enjoy it. It calmed him.

Well, it did calm him until one day D.S. Targ had responded to one of his posts. He couldn’t believe it. For a while he didn’t believe it. But he knew that D.S. Targ did have an account on here. The only Authenticated account. It had to be him. He’s not embarrassed to admit that he had hyperventilated a little bit. He is embarrassed about the way he responded to him though. He’d sounded like primary school child meeting Mickey Mouse or something. Though, in truth, that was a little bit what he’d felt like.

D.S. Targ had liked his post. His. _His_. He couldn’t believe it. He’d felt like he was flying high. Arya was overcome with good-natured jealousy, and kept asking for his autograph since he was basically famous now.

Of course, the internet had came at him. But he didn’t care. D.S. Targ had liked his post. Had thought it was ‘wonderful’ and ‘excellent’. Nothing could bring him down.

He’d nearly fallen out of bed when he saw that D.S. Targ had sent him a private message. A private message _apologizing_ , of all things, for causing him trouble on the forum. How nice was that of him?

He’d been cooler in his response that time he liked to think.

And so, the years went on, and with no fifth and final book on the horizon, and with the fourth season turning out even worse than the past ones (something he didn’t think was possible), he continued posting. He even delved into writing a little fanfiction here and there while he waited for the fifth season, but more importantly, the fifth book.

Then, the final season aired and he honestly couldn’t believe what he was watching.

It had him gnashing his teeth. He felt insulted on behalf of Tom and Calliope. This wasn’t who they were. It wasn’t how they would act – or, in Tom’s case, _not_ act.

When the finale had aired a few weeks ago he had spent hours on the phone with Arya lamenting, and raging about what they had just watched. Arya had been distraught. She _loved_ Calliope. Loved her since she had been a sixteen year old girl reading the first book cover to cover over and over again. She’d looked up to her, related to her. Her struggles, her courage, her faith in herself in a world where men were always telling her what to do. Jon was convinced that Calliope was at least part of the reason that Arya was the strong, fiercely independent young woman she is now.

He was thinking, now, about D.S. Targ again. Surely, surely that was not the end he had planned for the series was it? It couldn’t be. There were too many points left unresolved. Too many complete character assassinations. Too many prophecies discarded. Too many instances of foreshadowing and symbolism that hinted very clearly at a much, much different resolution to the series.

He decided to call Arya and see what she thought of it all.

They began, as was their usual for the past few weeks, by commiserating over the abysmal finale.

“What do you reckon D.S. Targ thinks about it all? He’s never said a word about the show. Not whether he approves or disapproves. I mean, I guess on some level he must approve because he signed them the rights to make it. But that was seven years ago, and only three of the books were out then. Do you think he told them the end? That that really is the end he has in mind? It can’t be, can it? He can’t have written this amazing, complex story just for it to end like _that_ , can he?” He ranted.

“Or she.” Arya responded primly.

“What?”

“Why are you so sure D.S. Targ is a man?” she demanded. “They could just as easily be a woman.”

He’d paused then, thinking deeply about it. Considering it, honestly for the first time. Why had he just assumed that D.S. Targ was a man? That was bloody awful of him really.

It was a pause too long for Arya.

“They could be.” She shrieked at him. “Women can write fantasy too, you know. In fact, it would make more sense if D.S. Targ _was_ a woman. A man would never write a character like Calli. Would never give a woman dragons, and a huge army, and make her a hero in her own right.”

“If she even _is_ still a hero” Jon replied sullenly. The ending of the show had really taken a toll on him.

“But you’re right, and I’m sorry. They could just as easily be a woman. And yeah, maybe some things would make a bit more sense if they were a woman.” He acquiesced. “But men can write compelling female characters too you know” he said, doing an impression of her affronted voice.

She scoffed at him.

“Yeah, maybe. Maybe like one man in a million. But I still reckon D.S. Targ is a woman.”

They’d chatted for a little while longer before he said he had to go. He had work the next day and it was time to walk Ghost then head to bed.

Out of the house, in the only other place she feels safe these days, at work in the hospital, Dany is in the break room catching up on some charting when she gets an emergency page.

Incoming trauma. Eleven year old boy. Thrown through windshield. Five minutes out.

She’s up in a flash and racing towards the Emergency Bay. Expertly, thanks to years of practice, throwing on and tying a surgical gown as she goes.

As she nears the entrance she sees _him_ already waiting.

Doctor Jon Snow.

One of, if not _the_ most, talented surgeons there is. He doesn’t work at this hospital, but he has surgical privileges at all of the hospitals in the city. Of course he does. Any hospital administrator would be a fool not to want him on staff in any capacity that they could have him.

His focus in the operating room was incredible. His precision remarkable. His talent unmistakable. She had operated in tandem with him a few times when the patient in question had traumatic injuries, and was a child. And every time she worked with him she had been in awe. She’d even checked some of the tapes of his surgeries out of the archive library to study his techniques.

She herself is an excellent surgeon, she knows that. But he was something else. He was raw talent, combined with an impeccable work ethic, with that something else, that something extra that just cannot be taught. It was instinct. He was a natural. A fucking surgical rock-star.

Above and beyond all that, he was _kind_. A rare trait in a surgeon, but she knew he was. She’d seen him doing follow-ups and after-care on every patient he’d worked on in her hospital. Trauma surgeons rarely, if ever, did follow-ups, or after-care themselves.

And as if that wasn’t enough, he was so goddamned handsome that she sometimes thinks he shouldn’t be allowed in an operating room, a place where complete focus was necessary, because his _face_ … and his _body_ … damn but they were a distraction. He definitely shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near the Cardiac Ward. His ass alone was enough to drive even the healthiest of hearts into an arrhythmia.

He was friendly too, if not a little solemn and introverted. She’d only spoken to him a couple of times, but each time he had been amiable and thoughtful, though reluctant to share too much personal information. She knew he had trained as a surgeon in the army, and that they were the same age. But that was about it. Unfortunately. She wanted to know more.

He intrigued her. Okay, so it might be more than intrigue. She _might_ have a little crush. But no one needs to know that. Her life is a shambles right now what with the backlash from the television series ending, and the pressure to not only maintain her focus at work, but to put the finishing touches on her last book and make it as good as she can. Hopefully good enough to wash the bad taste the television show had left out of the fans mouths. She didn’t have time for her little crush.

Oh, did she mention, her personal life was a shambles too. Had been for years. That’s what you get when you try to simultaneously become a surgeon and write an internationally acclaimed fantasy novel series. A decade worth of being alone.

He turns to her as she approaches and a little smile graces his goddamned perfect lips.

“Hello, Doctor Dany” he says cheerfully, an impish little twinkle in his gorgeous brown eyes.

It was what her patients called her. She’s a pediatric surgeon. Both Doctor Targaryen, and Doctor Daenerys were too much for tiny mouths to handle. Doctor Dany was simple and friendly, easy and warm. It made her patients feel comfortable.

Jon had smiled broadly the first time he’d heard a little six year old girl – their first ever patient together - call her that, and teased her mercilessly afterwards. But his smile had softened when she’d explained why, and he’d said he thought it was sweet.

But now he always called her that with a little friendly teasing to his tone. In fact, she wasn’t even sure he actually knew her real name. None of the other doctors, or nurses, or _any_ of the adults for that matter, at the hospital called her Doctor Dany. It was always Doctor Targaryen. Professional. Proper. She wondered what it meant that Jon insisted on the nickname. Probably nothing, she thought miserably, probably just him not even knowing her full name.

“Doctor Snow,” she replied as calmly as she could trying to catch her breath from both her run to the Emergency Bay, and the sight of him looking as damned fine as he always does.

“Looks like we’ve got a serious one incoming.”

“Aye. But you and I together, I’m sure we can handle it.” He replied with a wink.

A fucking wink.

Before she could process what just happened, let alone respond to it, he had turned back to face the entrance, his professional, focused mask in place.

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Banner made by the wonderful turner-cris on tumblr


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've changed the rating - really just because of language... for now anyway.
> 
> Thanks so much for all the lovely, encouraging comments on the first chapter.
> 
> If there are any particular fandom things you want to see included in the story, let me know and I'll see what I can do.
> 
> I hope you enjoy :)

Jon is in a very good mood this morning.

He is bustling round his kitchen, making toast and waiting for the coffee machine to finish while humming to himself.

Well, he _was_ humming to himself before he realised that he was humming the theme tune to Game of Thrones.

Fuck. Damnit.

He curses himself, and then starts actively singing _Ice Ice Baby_ \- which he knows is terribly catchy and is therefore the most likely song to stay stuck in his head and not let that piece of shit show’s theme tune back in.

Which isn’t fair to the theme tune really. Of all the things he hated about the show, he really had loved the music.

But still, the song _Ice Ice Baby_ makes him smile. It reminds him of a ridiculous Tomiope modern AU he read once where Tom and Calli were workmates and Calli had sung that song at the office karaoke Christmas party to try and get Tom’s attention, but the words instead were, of course, _Eis Eis Baby_. The author had done a fairly decent job of making all the lyrics fit with their situation. It had been a silly story. But fun, and light hearted. Something to make him laugh amongst all the other heavy stuff there was on there.

_“Will it ever stop?_ _  
Yo, I don't know  
Turn off the lights and I'll glow  
To the extreme, I rock a mic like a vandal…”_

He sings to a fairly unimpressed looking Ghost, using his butter knife as a make-shift microphone, before he realises that the coffee machine has finished. He pours himself a cup and goes to sit down at his round kitchen table, but Ghost lets out a pitiful whine before he can.

“Oh, sorry boy, I forgot to get you your breakfast. Don’t worry, I’ve got ya” he says as he jumps to it, and gives Ghost a playful head rub.

He pours biscuits into his bowl.

_“If there was a problem_

_Yo, I’ll solve it”_

He raps to his dog with gusto.

He’s fairly certain that he sees Ghost rolling his eyes.

But he doesn’t care that his dog is judging him. Did he mention that he is in a very good mood this morning?

The reason that he is in a very good mood this morning is that first on his agenda for today is Kings Landing Hospital to do a follow-up on a construction worker he had operated on a week ago.

And to him, Kings Landing Hospital means one thing.

Doctor Daenerys Targaryen.

Or Doctor Dany as her patients, and he calls her.

He likes it. He thinks it suits her. It’s sweet, cute, adorable. And so is she.

Today was going to be the day, he had resolved to himself. Today was going to be the day that he finally sucked up his courage and asked her out on a date.

He’d been wanting to for the longest time. Since the day he met her actually.

He can still remember that day like it was yesterday.

He’d been paged to assist in a surgery on a six year old girl who had fallen from the top of a playground and ended up impaled on a piece of a broken see-saw.

Horrible really.

He’d rushed to the hospital, and as he was racing in the front door to fetch a gown and gloves he saw _her_ running towards the entrance.

She was gorgeous. Simply stunning.

Silver, blonde hair. Big, bright blue eyes. Pretty, pouty pink lips.

Just breathtakingly beautiful.

He’d never been more thankful for his intense military training and focus as he was in that moment, because her face alone was enough to stop anyone in their tracks.

But there had been no time for that. No time even for introductions beyond that he was the Trauma surgeon on call, and her musical voice informing him that she was the resident Pediatric surgeon.

They’d rushed the girl straight to surgery and he couldn’t help but marvel at how well they worked together. How in sync they were. They barely needed to speak. It was like they could read each other’s minds. They anticipated one another’s needs and next moves. It was as though the whole surgery had been an intricately choreographed dance.

He had never had that before. 

Sure, there were surgeons in the army that he worked well with. But never anything close to this. And he had known, and operated with those surgeons for years.

He had just met this woman.

Yet they complemented each other so very well.

After successfully completing the surgery he’d trailed after her like a puppy when she went to inform the girl’s parents. He hadn’t needed to. He wasn’t a full-time member of staff at the Hospital, and dealing with family members was the responsibility of those who were since they would be the ones who would be the ongoing primary point of contact.

But he hadn’t wanted to leave her just yet. He hadn’t even gotten her name. And he wanted to, at the very least, compliment her skill and thank her for being such a great operating partner.

The girl’s parents were hugging her gratefully and crying tears of sheer relief by the time he caught up to her.

They thanked her repeatedly, but she modestly demurred and, as she saw him out of the corner of her eye, she said she certainly couldn’t have done it without the help of Doctor…

She’d trailed off. She didn’t know his name either he realised. How strange their job was. They’d just spent six hours working together and they didn’t even know the other’s name.

“Snow. Doctor Snow, Ma’am, Sir.” He’d said shaking first the mother, then the father’s hand.

“I’m just glad that your little…”

“Martha” she’d whispered to him quietly, so that only he could hear.

“Your little Martha is fine and on her way to a full recovery. She certainly is a trooper.” He’d beamed at them.

And they’d beamed back.

She’d asked them a few standard questions after that, and he’d hung around still, even though his part was more than done, just so he could have a few words with her. Maybe even find out _her_ name, since she now knew his.

Once she’d gone over her post-op plan she then asked them what Martha’s favourite colour, and what her favourite thing was.

He’d thought that a little strange. But then, she was a Pediatric surgeon, child patients were different. Perhaps this was one of the ways she related to them?

They’d told her that Martha loved purple and absolutely _adored_ unicorns. That everything in her room, everything in her life was unicorns this, unicorns that.

She’d smiled sweetly, thanked them and told them where they could go and get some rest while their daughter was in recovery.

She turned to him then, and that was his chance. He opened his mouth to speak but then her pager went off.

She looked down at it. Then she looked back up at him apologetically, and, he liked to think, a little regretfully. Though that could be his ego talking.

“I have to go,” she said. “It was an absolute pleasure working with you, Doctor Snow. You are incredibly talented.”

She’d flashed him her bright smile, and then she was off before he could even string a response together.

And he _still_ didn’t know her name.

Well, that wouldn’t do.

He’d made his way to the nurses station and asked who the Pediatric surgeon was.

That’s when he’d found out that the gorgeous, brilliant creature was called Doctor Daenerys Targaryen.

What a beautiful name. Most fitting for such a beautiful woman.

All well and good. But he wanted to see her again. And soon.

So he’d charmed the nurse into telling him when she did her rounds on post-op patients.

He, of course, had always planned to follow-up on Martha following surgery. But it would be much nicer to get to do so alongside Dr Daenerys Targaryen.

Thus, he found himself outside Martha’s room the next day just as Dr Targaryen was walking towards it.

“Doctor Snow” she’d said, her eyebrows raising in surprise as she saw him, “Hello. Is everything alright?”

He feigned the same level of surprise at seeing her – he didn’t want her to know he was a _slightly_ creepy stalker… even if that was technically, kind of, maybe, what he could be classified as right now if you wanted to get pedantic about it.

“Hello. Oh yes, everything’s fine. I was just coming in to check up on Martha after yesterday.” He’d replied.

She’d smiled delightedly at him. “How kind of you. Wonderful of you, really. Really that’s ummm, that’s very sweet of you.” She was flushing slightly as she stammered a little and he couldn’t take his eyes off the pretty sight.

“I was just about to check on her now actually. Shall we do it together?”

He’d grinned at her.

“Aye, sounds like a plan.”

She’d bit her lip lightly and nodded at him as one of her interns handed her what must have been Martha’s chart.

It was then he noticed what she was wearing, and realised the significance of her question to Martha’s parents yesterday.

Doctor Daenerys Targaryen apparently took relating to her patients to a whole other, attentive level.

She was wearing regular light blue scrub pants. But her scrub top was bright purple and emblazoned all over with pictures of unicorns.

Dear God, could this woman get any more precious or amazing?

Apparently she could.

They walked in to the room together and moved to stand on opposite sides of Martha’s bed.

“Hi Doctor Dany!” Martha said excitedly. It never ceased to amaze him how resilient kids were. They bounced back so quickly after surgery usually.

Jon grinned widely at her from across the bed. ‘Doctor Dany’ how bloody cute was that.

She saw him grinning and ducked her head, blushing, before she turned all her focus on the patient.

“Hi, Martha,” she replied in an endearingly gentle voice while smiling her million dollar smile at her.

“So you _do_ remember me from last night? That’s good. I thought you might have been a bit too sleepy.”

“Na uh. Not me.” Said Martha empathically.

Then she gasped.

“Doctor Dany,” she cried “Your top. It’s got unicorns on it!!” her little face was bright with excitement.

“No it doesn’t…” Daenerys looked down at her top and gasped too. “Oh my goodness,” she exclaimed. “You’re right. It does. How did that happen? They weren’t here before I came in were they Doctor Snow?”

He jumped a little at being addressed, but knew what to do to play along.

“They certainly weren’t. I wonder why they’re here now?”

“Unicorns and my FAVOURITE.” Martha declared.

“Well, that explains it then,” said Daenerys very rationally. He liked the way she talked to her patients. It was age appropriate, but not false in that way that so many people spoke to children. She was sincere, and spoke to them like they were people. Like little adults.

“They must have magically appeared to help me help make you feel better.”

“Really?” Martha asked, with all the wonder and belief in magic that a child of six could have in her eyes.

“Oh absolutely. There’s no other explanation.” Said Daenerys decisively. “So, will you let me and the unicorns check up on your stiches?”

Martha wiggled a little looking uncomfortable. “Will it hurt?” she asked.

“It might a little. But only a little, I promise.” Daenerys said gently. He appreciated that she didn’t try to lie to the little girl.

“But I know what you could do. Why don’t you name all the unicorns on my top while I check you over. They’re your own personal magical doctors too. I think they need some names, don’t you?”

“Okay.” Martha smiled, almost instantly appeased.

And so, Daenerys had diligently checked over all of Martha’s stiches, and he’d looked over her chart, double checked her medication and made a few adjustments all to the soundtrack of “Doctor Moonglow. Doctor Twinkle Hooves. Doctor Starlight Princess. Doctor SparkleSparkle. Doctor Sunshine. Doctor Glitter. Doctor Viserion.”

Daenerys had blinked at that last one, and he had looked up surprised.

“Doctor Viserion?” she asked. “That’s an interesting name for a unicorn. Where did you come up with that?”

“It’s the name of our kitty cat. I love him. Mummy named him after a tv show.”

Daenerys nodded but didn’t seem to show any reaction or understanding of what character Martha was talking about.

“That’s nice,” she replied evenly.

“Well, Martha, everything looks great. Your unicorn doctors have done an amazing job. You’ll be home and playing with Viserion in no time.” She smiled at the little girl who seemed very excited at the prospect.

After they said their goodbyes they stepped outside the room and Jon had turned to her.

“So, it’s Doctor Dany is it?” He asked with a big teasing grin on his face. “I never did catch your name yesterday.”

She blushed again and tucked some loose hair that had fallen out of her long, silver braid behind her ear. She was prone to blushing it seemed. He thought it was endearing as hell.

“Yes. Well, no. Not exactly. Ummm. My name, my full name is a bit too much for kids to pronounce so they just call me Doctor Dany.” She shrugged bashfully. “It’s easier for them to handle. More approachable.”

He was still grinning widely at her.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Are you mocking me?” she asked. Though she didn’t sound affronted at all.

His smile softened. “No. No, I’m really not. I think it’s sweet.”

She returned his smile then.

“Well, thanks for, ummm, thanks for checking in on Martha with me. You know you don’t have to do that. Not that I didn’t appreciate it… I mean, not that you can’t… I just mean… I just mean you don’t have to. You know?” She was blushing again.

He smiled at her reassuringly. “I know I don’t have to. But I like to do my own follow-ups on all the patients I operate on.”

She’d looked at him and he could tell she was both surprised and impressed. It made him feel good that she was impressed by him.

“So maybe I’ll be seeing more of you around then.” He said with a wink.

She blinked at him a few times, her lips slightly parted into a pretty little ‘o’ shape.

“Yes, I suppose you might.” She finally replied, and they started walking on, presumably towards the room of her next patient.

He didn’t want to stop talking to her.

“So I take it you don’t like Game of Thrones then?” he asked, remembering her reaction to the cat / unicorn named Viserion.

Something dark crossed over her lovely features for the briefest of moments, but it was gone so quickly he could almost think he imagined it.

“God no. I fucking hate that show.” She mumbled out.

They’d stopped outside a door.

“Simon next is it?” she asked her intern who nodded in reply.

“Would you pass me the fire trucks then please?”

He had no idea what was going on. And then, in the next second, he had lost the ability to think properly about anything at all. For in a flash she had pulled her unicorn scrub top over her head and he was thoroughly distracted by the sight of her lightly toned arms, tight stomach, and perfect curves. Not to mention her nipples which were highly visible and peaked, courtesy of the coolness of the air-conditioned hospital, through her thin white tank top.

Then in the next second, his glorious view was obstructed again and she was wearing a bright blue scrub top covered in images of fire trucks.

Despite being denied his now favourite sight he couldn’t help but grin.

“I take it Simon loves blue and fire trucks?”

“He does.” She smiled back.

“I think it’s wonderful that you go that extra mile for the kids.” He said nodding at her shirt to indicate what he meant.

“Thanks.” She replied softly.

“Well, I better not keep Simon from his fire trucks. Not sure they’ll make as good a doctors as unicorns would, but I’m sure if anyone can make it work, you can.”

“I hope I see you around, Doctor Dany.” He grinned cheekily at her.

And before she could reply he turned and walked off in the opposite direction feeling lighter than air.

What an amazing woman. What an amazing doctor.

It _was_ a shame she didn’t like Game of Thrones though… Possibly her only flaw.

Maybe he could get her to read the books?

Every time he was at Kings Landing Hospital after that he had tried to see her. Sometimes he was successful, sometimes he wasn’t. Those days frustrated him the most.

He wanted to get to know her better. He wanted to know everything about her.

But hell, he wasn’t even sure that she was single. Surely a woman like her couldn’t possibly be. She was probably married and had a husband who loved her to bits, and showered her with affection like she absolutely deserved.

It was hard to tell with surgeons. Most, if not all, of those that _were_ married never wore their wedding rings to work. Or if they did, they wore them on a chain around their neck, or kept them pinned in their pocket. It was too much of a hassle and waste of time to remove them when scrubbing in as fast as possible for surgery.

He’d dubbed it his lucky day when he overheard two of the nurses, Irri and Jhiqui talking about Irri’s upcoming wedding. Irri was lamenting over the guest list getting out of control when Jhiqui had told her that she could take two places away because her boyfriend was out of town so her and Daenerys were going to attend flying solo together as one another’s plus ones.

“Christ, has Doctor Targaryen _still_ not gotten herself a man?” asked Irri incredulously.

Jon had been incredulous too. But more than that, he’d been thrilled to know that she was single.

“No, and I doubt she ever will,” sighed Jhiqui. “Never had one in all the years I’ve known her. Not since coming to this hospital for her internship anyway.”

They’d turned a corner then and he hadn’t heard the rest of it. But he’d basically skipped off and been in a wonderful mood for the rest of the day.

So she _was_ single. As unfathomable as that was, it was good news for him.

As time passed he did end up seeing her around often. They even performed a handful more surgeries together. Each as synchronised as the first had been. And they’d had a few conversations. But he always managed to botch things up somehow.

One day he’d found her leaning against the nurses station writing something in a chart. She was wearing a bright yellow scrub top that was covered in pictures of dragons.

“I thought Jonathon had been discharged?” He said as he approached her leaning his hip against the desk close to where she was leaning hers.

Jonathon had been another joint patient of theirs, and he had liked yellow and dragons.

“Jonathon isn’t the only one who loves dragons” she replied with her bright, cheeky smile that lit up her entire face.

“So you just felt like wearing it?” He asked, not even trying to hide his own wide grin

“That I did” she said still smiling

He smiles back, but his thoughts must be off in the distance, mind elsewhere clearly because she suddenly asks him,

“What?”

Bringing him back to reality.

“Oh nothing, sorry. You just reminded me of someone that’s all.”

She’d looked unsure and a little uncomfortable. Maybe even a little disappointed.

“Oh,” she said quietly. “Okay. Well, bye Doctor Snow.”

Then she left in something of a hurry.

He has no idea what look had been on his face for her to look like that, or to walk away so quickly. He had been thinking about Calliope and her dragons.

Damnit. Now his obsession was getting in the way of flirting with the charming, and adorable Doctor Dany.

Unacceptable.

But no more.

Today is the day.

He’s going to do it. He knows she’s single. He knows she’s the closest thing in this world to perfect. He’s going to ask her out.

He’d just finished checking up on his patient when he got the page: Incoming trauma. Eleven year old boy. Thrown through windshield. Five minutes out.

He makes his way quickly to the Emergency Bay, and not long after he sees Daenerys running towards him looking every bit like the angel she always does.

In record time they move the patient into a Trauma Bay and start assessing his injuries in their usual, coordinated, complementary way. As always, without needing to discuss it first. They just read one another so well.

They’re about five minutes in to their assessment when second year trauma surgical resident Ramsay Bolton, who had just recently started shadowing Jon, comes strutting into the room and takes in the scene.

He sees Jon focusing on clearing the external abrasions and Daenerys checking for internal injuries.

He smirks as he walks over to her.

“Sweetheart,” he says to Daenerys in a sickeningly patronising tone of voice, shaking his head slightly as though admonishing a child.

“I know you’re just trying to help,” he goes on with a slimy smile on his face. “But this is a serious trauma. We don’t have time for nurses getting in the way, no matter how pretty they are.” He says looking her up and down in an entirely unsubtle, not to mention disgusting and unprofessional manner.

If his words alone had Jon seeing red. Which they did. Then seeing Bolton place his hand on Daenerys’ hip, far, far too close to her ass for Jon’s liking - or to be an accident for that matter - and try to push her aside had him absolutely about to explode.

“Move aside, honey. We need to find out what we are working with here, and what you’re doing is wasting time.”

Jon is about to rip Ramsay a new one, but Daenerys’ cool, calm voice stops him.

“Irri?” she calls to one of the nurses in the room. “Could you please bring up on a tablet Luwin and Wolkan’s 2018 paper titled ‘Proper protocol and procedure for assessing high level trauma from vehicular accidents’ and give it to Doctor Bolton to read as you escort him out of my Trauma Bay?”

She doesn’t miss a beat while talking, continuing to carefully manoeuvre the ultrasound while keeping an eye on the monitor and twisting her body slightly to dislodge Ramsay’s offending hand. 

As always, Jon is amazed by her. Her skill and conviction. Her way of dealing with people. Even greasy gits like Bolton. Her professionalism.

Not thirty seconds after Bolton had left she calls out “Doctor Snow, the patient’s liver is almost completely ruptured. We need to get him to the O.R now.”

Rapidly, the entire team prepares for, and begins to make the move. Daenerys calling out “Get the Transplant Centre on the phone now. Tell them we need a new liver immediately. Make sure this patient is at the top of their list.”

They both know it’s a long shot. That the likelihood that they will get a liver in time would be a miracle. But neither of them are quitters.

So they scrub in and focus on the things they can fix. Working solidly and steadily around one another.

But in the end. With no new liver. There was nothing they could do. And the patient. The eleven year old boy. Dies on their operating table.

Daenerys calmly calls time of death then pulls her gloves and mask off and walks to the far side of the room placing her hands on the equipment table there and bending over breathing heavily and unsteadily.

Jon approaches her slowly. He doesn’t say anything, just stands near her offering her his silent support and solidarity.

After a few minutes she straightens and Jon thinks he sees her wipe hastily at her eyes before she turns to face him.

“I’ll go inform the parents” she says solemnly.

She looks miserable. Though he supposes the same look is probably etched on his face too.

“I can do it.” He offers.

“No,” she says quietly, “no. It’s my job. I can do it. Thank you though.” She gives him a watery little smile and leaves the room.

He’s sad and he’s angry. He hates losing a patient. Hates it. He decides to channel his emotions into something productive and storms off to deal with Bolton who will definitely be, if not fired by the end of today, then at the very least no longer allowed the privilege of shadowing him.

After giving Bolton a very humiliating, very public dressing down he goes in search of Daenerys.

He finds her in the break room, curled up on one of the couches, crying softly.

He understands how she is feeling. Losing a patient is always terrible. But losing a child is a different kind of feeling all together. He’s not sure how she does it. With all her patients being children. He knows that despite how good she is, how hard she tries, she cannot save them all. Today is proof enough of that.

He walks over and sits next to her quietly.

He wants to comfort her. He wants to hug her. To hold her to him and share her pain. But he knows that would be crossing a line since they technically barely know one another. Despite how often he thinks about her.

He knows he cannot ask her out now. Not after the day they have had.

“Are you alright?” he asks instead.

She looks at him and nods slowly.

“I will be.” She says, her voice a little broken. It hurts him to hear it. “Are you alright?”

“Aye, I will be.” He echoes.

There isn’t much to be said. This is the job. They both know that.

They sit in comfortable silence, close, but not touching for about ten minutes when her pager goes off.

She’s already standing as she checks it and he can see her physically pulling herself together instantly.

Not that it’s easy for her to do so. He can see that it isn’t. But he can also see that she has the strength to do it despite it being hard.

He offers to help with whatever her page is.

She smiles at him kindly and thanks him but assures him that it is not trauma related and that he should get some rest.

Before she walks out the door she turns back to him and says “Thanks for just now, Doctor Snow.”

“Anytime, Doctor Dany” he replies smiling gently at her.

Daenerys is at home, alone, as usual, after a particularly miserable day. She feels awful for that poor boy and his parents. She knows it isn’t her fault. She knows there’s nothing else she could have done. But that doesn’t stop her from feeling morose.

Feeling morose and so, so lonely.

She wants to call Missy just to hear a friendly voice. But Missy is in Essos with work, and the time difference makes that impossible.

She doesn’t have any other friends.

Yes, she gets on well with her colleagues at the Hospital. But she’s not close to any of them. She wouldn’t consider any of them a friend. Nor would they her.

Her thoughts drift to Jon. He had been so wonderful today. So kind and supportive without being intrusive. Much like in the operating room, it seems he always knows instinctively what she needs.

She wishes he was her friend. Or, well… you know… more than her friend.

She was going to spend this evening hashing out the final details of her book. But she is in no mood to do that now.

With the mood she is in now she would probably change the whole thing and make the Others win. Destroy the world and everyone in it.

So instead she’d poured herself a glass of pinot noir. Drank that. Then poured herself another glass.

She is now on her third glass.

For lack of anything better to do, she opens her laptop thinking she might browse Netflix to find something boring enough to put her to sleep, but instead she sees it is still open on the Game of Thrones forum she had been perusing the night before.

Fuck it, she thinks. It’s not like my mood can get any worse.

She drains her third glass, pours a fourth and starts scrolling.

The first post she comes across is titled:

_The Red and White wolves. The colours of LOVE. The colours of ICE and FIRE. Tecia is ENDGAME bitches_

Urgh. Why? Just, why? And fuck, how? Just, how?

She cannot believe the mental gymnastics people go through to reach these conclusions.

Lecia and Tom _barely_ interact in the books. In fact, Lecia kind of _hates_ Tom. And Tom rarely even thinks about Lecia.

She would blame the show, but even in that she (though she knows she could be biased) cannot see how people would draw the conclusion that Lecia and Tom were some kind of perfect, predestined couple. Let alone the ice and fire of the series.

In the show, Lecia constantly undermines Tom, and Tom shows nothing but mild, sibling-like concern and affection towards her. It genuinely boggles her mind.

Just as she thought, this is doing nothing for her mood. But maybe wallowing is what she needs.

But then her eyes catch upon a post by her favourite fan EisSnow. It is called:

_The importance of representation: Why women deserve characters like Calliope_

She reads it immediately.

She’s crying by the end of it.

She knows it is probably a combination of the day she has had. And the wine. But she cannot stop herself from feeling that this post was written _for her_. Her personally. Not D.S. Targ. But her.

It’s a fairly lengthy post, and in it it describes how much women put up with on a daily basis. How their ability, and authority is constantly questioned, scrutinised, and undermined simply because of the fact that they are women. How they have to deal with all of that on top of doing their jobs and remaining professional. It talks about the quiet, yet undeniable, admirable and overwhelming strength they possess to handle these micro, and macro aggressions with poise, grace, control, and composure. How much faith they have to have in themselves, how much inner strength they have to be able to pull themselves together and carry on when things go wrong. How they must do all that and yet still remain warm and compassionate and open and caring, lest they be seen as less than a woman. And since, in our world, being a woman is to be seen as less than a man, then being seen as less than a woman is to be seen as less than human. It talks about how Calliope embodies all of these things. She has struggled and dealt with all of them. Yet she has never lost her faith in herself. She has never given up. She, through sheer force of her own will grows stronger, even as she allows herself to feel and suffer her loses when she has them. It ends by saying that women deserve to have the representation of a strong, yet compassionate, conflicted, yet full of conviction character like Calliope who strives, always, to have faith in herself in a world where men are always trying to manipulate her, use her, think they know what’s best for her, or tell her what to do. Women deserve Calliope because she embodies all that women are today. That women deserve a hero like Calliope. Because women are heroes. And so is Calliope.

It hadn’t been posted that long ago at all. Only about an hour prior to her finding it. But already it had garnered over a hundred comments. Some enthusiastic, praising the thoughtfulness and insight. Some adding their own experiences and how they fit in exactly with what EisSnow is saying.

But the vast majority, of course are negative. Grossly, disgustingly negative. And of course, most of those negative responses were from people posting anonymously. Fucking cowards.

_Yea people shud really be looking up to a crazy mental killer bitch_

_If my daughter acted spoiled and arrogant like Calamity I’d send her straight to a fucking nunnery_

_She killed her own fucking brother. hope you don’t have sisters dude or ur a dead man lol_

_Stop saying there is only one way to be a woman you anti-feminist cunt. Lecia has been through so much more is so much stronger and is a waaaaaaaay better woman than Cantaloupe could ever be!!!_

_Like this world needs more arrogant bitches thinking their in charge lmao smh. Fuck off homo_

_She was blinded by ambition and it literally made her go mad. What Callie really represents is that women can’t handle power and they should just stay in their lanes. Make me a sandwich, amiright??_

_Calorie is the WORST representation of a woman eva. Shes not even strong!! All her power was just given to her ffs_

Fucking sigh.

She’s not drunk enough to respond using her Authenticated D.S. Targ account – thank God for that. But, but she really _does_ want to respond. She wants to let EisSnow, whoever they are, know that their words had made her feel immeasurably better when she didn’t think that anything would be able to.

So she grabs her work laptop, installs a VPN, and uses her phone as a hotspot for the internet.

That should cover her tracks if someone was to try and find her shouldn’t it? She doesn’t know shit about that kind of thing. Tywin had had a tech expert put all the blocks and whatevers on her writing laptop to prevent hacking.

She knows she’s being paranoid. She’s not even going to respond as D.S. Targ. Even if someone does track this. Do people even track this shit? All they would track it to would be a pathetic, sad, and lonely Pediatric surgeon. Not a world renowned author.

She makes an account under the name Queen_Calli. It took her a while to get one that wasn’t already in use. She lucked out with the one she got, though she knows that most of the reason for that is that people fucking _always_ spell Calli with an e on the end – which is just, just not her name, okay?

She doesn’t want to throw herself into the fray. She’s not going to post publicly. She’s just going to send EisSnow a private message thanking them for their post and telling them how much it meant to her.

She opens the private message box.

Shit, she’s nervous. Why is she so nervous?

Maybe it’s the wine. She takes another sip anyway.

**Queen_Calli:** Hi EisSnow, I hope you don’t mind me private messaging you..? I didn’t want to send anything publicly because it really is a nightmare on this forum sometimes, and I just do not want to deal with that. But I just read your post: _The importance of representation: Why women deserve characters like Calliope,_ and I wanted to tell you how very much it meant to me. I’ve had a terrible day, and I didn’t think anything could cheer me up, but your words did. I mean, they made me cry – but in a good, cathartic way, you know? It was so poignant, and real (not to mention I think you are incredibly brave posting something like that given the current climate). It’s nice to know that someone besides me still thinks Calli is a hero. Anyway, I’ve taken up too much of your time… but thank you, thank you, thank you, again for what you wrote. I think I might print it out and keep it in my pocket.

Fuck she’s really nervous now. Her hands are shaking. Maybe it’s the wine. She takes yet another sip. 

Hang the fuck on… wasn’t drinking and going on a computer the way she got herself on this fucked up rollercoaster to hell in the first place?

Oh well, it’s too late now.

She hits send.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Banner made by the wonderful turner-cris on tumblr


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone that left such lovely, kind comments on the last chapter.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this next one...

Dany is sitting there, staring at the notification that says her message has been sent, feeling slightly mortified and questioning every decision she has ever made that has led her up to this point.

_Why_ had she thought it would be a good idea to message a random fan of her books? Why?

A good fan, sure. Her favourite fan. One who definitely gets her books and her characters in a very real way. But still...

What the fuck had she been thinking?

Stupid wine.

Traitorous wine.

“I thought we were friends” she grumbles to the life-sabotaging liquid. 

She takes another sip anyway.

She’s already killed one bottle and is contemplating opening another – she has the next two days off after all - when a ding sound startles her. Has her nearly lurching off the couch, almost spilling what wine remains in her glass all over herself.

She stares at her laptop.

The words, **Private Message Reply From: EisSnow** stare back at her.

With shaking hands, and shallow breaths she clicks the notification. Steeling herself to face the consequences of her own actions.

**EisSnow –** Hey Queen_Calli, no, I don’t mind at all that you private messaged me instead of posting publicly. I know as well as anyone how heated it can get out there. I’ve never seen you on here though – are you a new fan? I’m glad, really I am, that my post was able to make you feel better. I actually wrote it about, well, it was inspired by a friend of mine. Well, not exactly my friend, not yet, but someone I admire very much. She reminds me a lot of Calli in some ways – I mean, she doesn’t have dragons. Or magic (as far as I am aware), but she’s pretty incredible. But I guess that was the point of the post. Women are incredible with all the shit they have to put up with. I’m rambling a bit, sorry. But yeah, I’m really glad you liked my post and that it helped you with whatever it is you are having to deal with :)

Huh.

Well, that was a very lovely reply. She knew EisSnow was a nice person. This is really just more confirmation of that.

She should respond shouldn’t she? It would be rude not to. Especially after they went to the trouble of responding to her.

And they _had_ asked her a question. That requires a response doesn’t it? It’s the polite thing to do.

Is she rationalising? She doesn’t care or even know at this point. She hits reply.

**Queen_Calli:** Thanks for your reply. How lovely that your post was inspired by someone. I hope you don’t mind me saying, but if she’s not already your friend by now, then I’m sure she will be soon. How could she not want to be when you think such wonderful things about her? Any woman would be lucky to have a friend like you in her corner. No, I’m not a new fan… I’m something of a lurker. I’ve been lurking on this forum for years but have never posted anything. Hoping not to come off sounding like a creep… but I have read all of your posts. They’re all amazing. You really know what you are talking about. I’m something of a fan of them. And it really is so nice to talk to someone who appreciates Calli and doesn’t think she’s a lost cause (or worse). Thanks again :)

Dany blows out a slow breath. There. That was a nice, fine, normal reply.

Good.

She feels good.

It’s nice to talk to someone about her books without them having any idea that it is her.

She’s in a pretty jolly mood now, and decides she will open that second bottle after all.

She’s just finished pouring herself a glass and settled back into her couch when she hears that ding again.

EisSnow has replied.

**EisSnow:** Thanks for your words of encouragement! Keep your fingers crossed for me that I do manage to strike up that friendship. There are only two things I really want in life: to get to know her better, and get that friendship, and OF COURSE, for the fifth book to _finally_ come out. I’m sure you understand that last one at least. Or are you more of a show fan? Oh, thank you for saying that about my posts. That’s really nice – and no, I don’t think it’s creepy at all. I post them so people will read them. Do you know – not to brag or anything – that D.S. Targ _themselves_ actually responded to one of my posts once?!? I swear I nearly chocked on nothing when I saw it and I rambled like an idiot in my reply to them… But, no regrets. It was an honest reaction :) And yep, I am still firmly in the Calli is a hero camp… for now anyway…

She giggles to herself as she reads the reply. Whoever they are, EisSnow is clearly infatuated with their muse.

‘Friendship’ her ass. They definitely want so much more. Can she tease a stranger on the internet about that? Would that be cyberbullying? EisSnow seems like a pretty easy going person… she doubts they’ll mind.

And god is it fun to have this little bit of insight into what went on in their mind when she had authentically responded to their post as D.S. Targ.

She’s officially in this now. She goes to reply.

**Queen_Calli:** My fingers are all crossed for you. But… and this is just the opinion of a stranger on the internet… it kind of sounds like you want those fingers crossed for something that is a little more than friendship… am I right? Sorry if asking crosses a line. You absolutely do not have to answer that. Oh, god no – I hated the show. Absolutely hated it. Sorry if you liked it. But I could barely bring myself to watch some of it. They got so much wrong. Hahaha, you are _definitely_ bragging. But that’s okay. I’m happy for you. That must have been great. What do you mean ‘for now?’ about Calli?

She continues to casually sip her wine, feeling much happier and more relaxed than she did at the beginning of this evening, as she waits for EisSnow to reply.

She doesn’t have to wait long.

**EisSnow:** Alright, fine, you caught me. Happy? Yeah, sure, I’d love to be more than friends with her. But she’s… well like I said, she’s incredible. Like, beyond incredible. Like, way out of any human person’s league incredible. But that’s just between us okay? I’m trusting you with a very big secret here. Don’t be a show!Lecia :) Urgh, I’m so glad to hear you say that. I hated the show too. I love the books so much that watching it sometimes felt torturous to do. But that’s why I mean ‘for now’ about Calli. Like, what if that is actually how the books are going to end? I mean, don’t get me wrong. I hope they don’t. Both for my sake, and my little sister who absolutely adores Calli and was devastated by what they did to her. And the books are so much more detailed and intricate, not to mention so much more well written that most of the time I think surely, _surely_ that can’t be how D.S. Targ is going to end them. But then, what do we even know about D.S. Targ? They’ve never commented on the show. And when I picture them I picture an old, reclusive white man with all the typical attitudes that go along with that stereotype and I lose all hope and start to think that the books _will_ end just like the show. My little sister gave me a thorough dressing down about that – she’s convinced that D.S. Targ is a woman. We’ve got a wager going on it. If she’s right I owe her $100. What do you think? Do you think that D.S. Targ is some sexist prick setting Calli up for a fall? Or do you maintain the hope like I do?

Well. Shit.

There’s a lot to unpack there.

Of all the outcomes she had anticipated when first messaging EisSnow, she had _not_ thought that she would end up having to speculate about herself in the third person.

Not that she’s surprised by their assumptions. She knows that that is who most of the world thinks she is. That _had_ been Tywin’s whole plan after all.

Though she _does_ feel bad that eventually EisSnow is going to be out $100 to their sister.

She’s going to need more wine.

**Queen_Callie:** Ha! I knew it! Well, best of luck to you. I’m sure you’ll be able to charm her. You seem like a really nice and genuine person. Aaaaaah, I don’t like to speculate beyond what we already have. Sorry… I just, I just can’t. But I don’t mind other people doing it. I just can’t. I just like to maintain the hope like you do.

There. Simple. To the point.

She can’t speculate. Not even anonymously. It’s too dangerous. Especially since she is a bottle and a half of wine in. But even if she wasn’t. She just can’t. The book will be out soon anyway. Then speculation won’t be necessary.

**EisSnow:** Awwwwwww, Come on! Please? Speculate with me. It will be fun. You’re possibly the only sane sounding person I’ve talked to on this message board – besides D.S. Targ - did I mention they responded to me once? :) Pretty please?

She’s giggling like a child now. Maybe she’s a little drunk.

She is.

But it’s mainly because EisSnow is whining like a little kid and it is hilarious.

**Queen_Callie:** As endearing as your pleas are, I’m sorry, I won’t. But I am happy to talk about the things we already know. Or your massive crush :) Or commiserate with you about how crap the show was.

**EisSnow:** Fine :) I’ll take what I can get. What episode fucked you off the most?

They’d messaged long into the night. And it was a lot of fun. The most fun she has had in a long time which is both delightful, and extremely pathetic she acknowledges.

She wakes up the next morning, a tad worse for wear. Damn wine. But in a good mood.

She has another message from EisSnow which she replies to before rolling herself out of bed and putting the coffee on.

She has two days off and she is going to make the most of them.

Buoyed up by her conversations with EisSnow, which somehow managed to instil a newfound sense of confidence and faith in herself, she spends the next two days putting the finishing touches on her final book and emails it off to Tywin feeling scared shitless that this thing, this thing that had taken up the past decade of her life is now complete. But feeling proud of herself too. Proud that she did it.

She’s feeling glad as well. Feeling glad that the publication of the final book will make lovely people like EisSnow happy… hopefully.

So long as the book isn’t too terrible.

But hey, even if she’d written the whole thing by blindly smashing her elbows onto her keyboard it still couldn’t possibly be worse than the way the show ended.

A few days later Jon is in the CCU at King’s Landing Hospital monitoring a particularly critical case.

Out of what is now habit, he checks phone to see if Queen_Calli has replied.

He smiles. She has. Just a few minutes ago.

He likes his new internet friend very much. Even if they refuse to play speculation games with him. They talk about the show, and the books (that are already out thanks to her dumb ‘no speculation’ rule). But they also talk about other things without sharing any personal information at all. It’s really nice. He doesn’t have many friends. It is just really nice having someone to talk to.

There is also something vaguely familiar about the way she speaks... or types more accurately. He couldn’t put his finger on what it is. But whatever it is, it makes him feel really comfortable talking with her. 

Their online conversations had been a soothing balm after suffering through Arya’s relentless teasing the night that they had connected.

She’d called him not long after he’d uploaded his post.

“Nice post.” she’d said without any preamble. Not even a damn ‘hello favourite brother, how are you this fine evening?’

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you wrote it for me. About how awesome I am.”

“How do you know I didn’t?” he asked, hedging. Though he knew his tone came off as somewhat defensive.

She’d snorted at him in a disbelieving way.

“Oh pleeeeease.” She’d said in the most condescending voice he’d ever heard from her.

“You may as well have called that thing _An Ode to Doctor Dany_.”

He goes to reply but she is not nearly finished with him…

“Oh Arya, she’s so strong, so kind, so compassionate, so perfect. I want to marry her. I want to surgically attach myself to her side so I never have to be away from her. I want her to have a million of my babies.” She monologues grandly in a very piss-poor imitation of his voice.

All he could do is stammer in response. He doesn’t talk about Doctor Dany _that much_ does he?

“It’s a shame your girlfriend doesn’t like Game of Thrones” she goes on, “otherwise she might have seen your blatant undying declaration of love on the online forum.”

“She’s _not_ my girlfriend,” was all he could think of to mumble out sullenly in response to that.

“And the way you said that just now tells me everything I need to know about how you feel about that state of affairs” she’d sniggered. 

He’d sulked for a while, and he’d eventually gotten her off the phone and to stop teasing him by telling her he had work to do. 

Meddlesome, brat.

He looks back down at his phone and goes to reply to Queen_Calli, but before he can his pager goes off, and he is up and running.

He sees Doctor Dany, already gowned and gloved and apparently waiting for him.

She looks up at him.

“It’s bad.” She says without preamble – it’s not rude coming from her, there’s a life hanging in the balance and it’s their job to even the scales.

“Auto versus cyclist. Sixteen year old bike messenger. We’re taking him straight up to the O.R. No time to waste.”

He nods firmly to indicate he understands and rushes after her and the patient.

The surgery was a long, and gruelling one. It had been touch and go there several times. But in the end, she and Doctor Snow had managed to stabilise the patient, and fix everything that needed fixing.

She’s just finished talking to the young man’s parents and decides that she absolutely, definitely needs a cup of coffee.

As she waits in line she checks her phone to see if EisSnow has replied to her last message.

She knows it might be a little weird, forming a friendship or whatever with a complete stranger on the internet. But she really doesn’t have any friends besides Missy who is very busy right now, and she likes having someone to talk to… or type to. And EisSnow is very nice, and pretty funny when they want to be.

She also knows she should probably feel bad. Tricking them the way she is. They don’t know they’re messaging the author of the books they are talking about. But she’s legally obligated to keep her mouth shut about that. And she really, really does just want a friend.

Maybe she should have messaged someone in a different fandom if she was really that desperate for company. Fuck, she’s pathetic.

But then, if she’d done that, that person wouldn’t have been EisSnow. And she liked EisSnow because of how well they understood her books. 

Huh. They haven’t replied.

That’s strange. She’d been in surgery for over 10 hours. Usually they respond fairly quickly.

But then again, she doesn’t even know what time zone they are in. They could be anywhere in the world.

She puts her phone away, grabs her coffee then heads to the nurses station to finish up the charting on her last patient.

Doctor Snow, she sees, is already there, apparently doing what she had just come to do.

But does he have to do it like _that_?

Bent over at the waist as he scribbles his notes so that his fine ass is clearly accentuated in the thin scrub pants they all wear. 

She scrubs at her eyes, scolding them not to stare, and tries to be the professional she supposedly is, and not a swooning teenage girl.

“You don’t have to do that, Doctor Snow.” She says, and she is pleased to hear that her voice sounds level, and not breathy which she knows it would if she gave it free reign at this moment.

“Doctor Dany,” he exclaims in that cheerful way he always does when saying her name. She wonders if she amuses him somehow. Like a cat that can shake hands or something. Because he always says her name in a way that suggests he is either really happy to see her (which she wishes, but doubts), or that her name is just a diverting joke to him. She would bet on the latter.

She smiles back regardless. Because, as she mentioned, she is pathetic, and a goddamned goner for his smile.

“I know I don’t have to, but I had a spare moment and thought I would save you some of the trouble.”

“Well, thank you, Doctor Snow. That’s certainly very kind of you. I can take over now if you want. You must be keen to get out of here.”

He shrugs, “Not really, not at all actually. There’s nothing else on my schedule today and I was hoping to catch a glimpse of Doctor Mormont before I left.”

Doctor Jeor Mormont was visiting the Hospital for the next few days. He was a legend. An absolutely ground breaking surgeon, especially in the field of Trauma. It’s no wonder Doctor Snow wants to see him.

He’s twisting his head like an owl trying to spot him at this very moment.

“Stop craning your neck like that, you’ll put it out” she says placing her hand lightly on the side of his face and gently turning it back to the front.

She notices he goes a little red. Fuck, now she’s made him uncomfortable.

Hands to yourself, Dany. What were you just saying about being a professional?

“Even if you don’t see him today, there will be plenty of time to talk to him tomorrow night at the gala. The Hospital is going all out for him. Drinks, speeches, dinner, dancing. The works. I can see why you’d be excited though, he basically invented modern Trauma surgery. Unless you’ve already met him?”

“No I haven’t,” he replies, and he looks a little miserable, “and I’m afraid this isn’t my chance. Invites are for full-time staff members only. No room for doctors who only have surgical privileges at the Hospital.”

She frowns at that. That isn’t fair. And before she knows it, she’s talking without her own consent.

“Oh, well, you could, you um, we’re allowed to bring someone. I was going to go alone, but if you really want to meet him, you could come with me. I mean, that is, I mean, so long as no one would mind you coming with me I mean…”

Shit. Why had she asked that. Yes, she wants him to get to meet Doctor Mormont, but did she have to ask him like that? There were more umms than words in that sentence. If it could even be called a sentence.

“You think the Hospital Admin would mind you bringing me?” he asks, and he looks genuinely confused.

She’s confused too. That’s not what she meant. Not at all. She hadn’t even been thinking about the Hospital Admin.

She’d been thinking about his girlfriend.

Well, she’s like, 85% certain that he has a girlfriend. They’ve been times when he had definitely seemed like he’d been thinking about a girlfriend. Anyway, surely he must. Last time she checked there were women who still had functioning eyes.

So she’d assumed that perhaps his girlfriend wouldn’t appreciate him attending a function with another woman.

“No, no. God no, of course not. They wouldn’t mind at all.” She’s quick to assure him. “I just meant… I mean… Nothing. Forget it.” God she’s pathetic – and she thinks she must be setting a new record for herself today in the Dany Pathetolympics. “But the offer still stands. You can come as my plus one if you want to.”

She’s staring at the ground. She absolutely _does not_ want to see his reaction to whatever it was that just came out of her mouth masquerading as words.

“I’d love too.” He says brightly. And her head shoots up to look at him.

He’s smiling his disarmingly perfect smile at her. Damn him.

“Great, that’s, that’s great.” She fumbles, a little dazed by his grin.

“Well, I’ll be going straight from here so you can just meet me there.”

He looks momentarily alarmed.

“No, no I want to pick you up. I mean, uh, what I mean is, I’ll pick you up.” 

She sucks in a sharp breath eyeing him hopefully. Why would he want to pick her up? Did that mean…

“They probably won’t let me in without you.” He laughs, and she feels something wither and die within her chest. “We’ll need to show up together, you’re my ticket.”

Oh, she thinks, of course - that’s why. Practicality. Logistics. Get your head out of the clouds, Dany.

Maybe she should read that ‘ _He’s just not that into you_ ’ book. It would do her a world of good.

She nods slowly, disappointment seeping into her bones. 

“Right,” she says dully. “Yes, sure. That will be fine then. I’ll, uh, I’ll meet you in the doctors lounge at 6 then?”

She waits just long enough to see him nod in affirmation before she makes a quick excuse and bolts away from him before he can notice how flaming red her cheeks are.

The next evening Jon is pacing his living room frantically.

Should he get her a corsage?

What the fuck, brain? No. You’re not a teenager in an 80’s rom-com taking her to prom.

_She’s_ taking to you to a very official work function.

But still… he should get her something to thank her bringing him along. Shouldn’t he?

No. No that would be too much. He doesn’t want to freak her out.

Knowing him he’d probably go on auto-pilot while shopping, his sub-conscious taking over, and show up handing her an engagement ring.

That will not do.

She doesn’t know it, but he is getting two things he’s always wanted out of tonight. He’s going to get to meet Jeor Mormont… and he’s going on an unofficial, definitely not, but if he uses his imagination hard enough, could-be date with Doctor Dany.

He knows it’s not a date. He does. He swears.

He knows she only asked him because she knew he wanted to meet Jeor Mormont and she is just lovely and kind and considerate like that.

But still… a man can dream can’t he?

He’d spent an inordinate amount of time grooming himself for the evening.

His tux is pressed to perfection – he’d asked the drycleaner to do it twice.

He’d managed his wild curls into something respectable.

He’d visited the barber and his beard is nicely trimmed.

He’d sprayed on just the right amount of cologne. Not too much, not too little.

He’d brushed his teeth five times.

And now he’s hiding in a supply closet at Kings Landing Hospital because it is only 5.15.

He’d been so nervous about being late that he’d arrived way, way too early. But he doesn’t want to get caught out about that. He doesn’t want to look desperate.

So, he’s hiding.

Hiding and waiting.

Forty minutes later – the longest forty minutes of his life – he makes his way to the doctor’s lounge to pick up Doctor Dany.

He would have liked to pick her up at her house. Opened his car door for her. Driven her to the event.

But that would be a real date. And this is only him indulging in the pretend of one. And this is what she had suggested.

However, if all goes well this evening… maybe he will get to pick her up for a not-pretend date soon…

As he said, a man can dream.

All he needs to do is not fuck this up.

He opens the door to the doctor’s lounge and sees her. She is the only one in there.

Actually, he wouldn’t put money on that necessarily. There could be a whole circus, which was on fire, with the Loch Ness monster on the trapeze in the room as well right now and all he’d see was her.

He refuses to blink. If he blinks he might wake up to discover this is all a dream. If he blinks she might disappear and that would be _unacceptable._

Shit. If he _doesn’t_ blink she’s going to think he’s having a stroke. Or worse, that he’s an absolute creep. Fuck.

He blinks quickly.

And she’s still there. Looking at him.

He doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. What does he normally do with his hands? Do they usually just hang at his side like this? And what about his face? Is this how his face usually looks? He doubts it. Because this is the first time he has ever seen a sight as glorious as the one before him.

Get yourself together, Snow. He chastises himself internally.

But how can he?

He’d always known that she was beautiful, stunning. That had never been in question. But he realises now that he’d always thought that beauty was cute, sweet, adorable. She works with kids. She’s amazing with them. She smiles so widely, with such abandon that her eyes scrunch up until they basically disappear. She wears brightly coloured scrub tops that are covered in butterflies, kittens, fairies. She gets called Doctor Dany. All of these things scream cute, sweet, adorable. So that is what he thought she was.

He had never been more wrong.

He has never been happier to have been so wrong.

Because the absolute goddess standing in front of him right now is a far cry from the cute, sweet, adorable Doctor Dany.

The woman standing in front of him is the sexiest thing he has ever seen in his entire life.

Her long hair, usually held back in a professional braid, is loose and teasingly tousled, flowing in waves around her face like a moonlit halo, and gently cascading down her shoulders.

Her very bare shoulders.

Her eyes are dark and smoky. Alluring. Accentuating the vibrant blue colour in a striking manner.

Her full, pouty lips are painted a rich, deep wine red colour.

And her dress.

Fuck.

The thin strapped, pure black silk bodice absolutely clings to her body like a second skin with a plunging neckline that stops just below the valley of her breasts. The black, pleated chiffon skirt drops playfully from the bottom of her hips. And god. God. It has a slit up the front through which he can see, from the way she is standing, the slightest hint of her smooth, toned, bare legs.

The entire ensemble is topped off with very, very sexy matching black high heels.

He thinks he is going to have a heart attack.

She smiles at him and turns briefly to pick up her clutch.

It is then he realises that her entire back is bare.

He is definitely going to have a heart attack.

She turns back around, still smiling sweetly at him.

“Shall we go then, Doctor Snow?”

She asks breaking him out of his fantasy-laden stupor. 

He shakes his head briefly, and what he hoped was subtly. Praying that he doesn’t do, or say, something stupid and fuck this up.

He clears his throat.

“You know,” he begins, grateful that his voice didn’t crack like the pubescent boy he feels like right now, “you can call me Jon, we’re not at work.”

She smirks and gestures vaguely with her hands at the room they are in.

“Well,” she says still smiling, “technically we are.”

He puffs out an amused little breath.

“You know what I mean. We’re not on the clock.”

She laughs softly, and it is the most beautiful sound he has ever heard.

“I know. I was just teasing, Jon.”

Nope. Nope. He recants his last statement. Her saying his name is the most beautiful sound he has ever heard.

He looks at her hopefully, “Does that mean I can call you just Dany then?”

Her smile widens, “Of course you can.” She says, as though it is that simple. As though speaking and being in the same room as her at any time, let alone when she looks the way she looks right now, is a simple thing.

He tries for casual.

“Is Dany your full name, or is it short for something?”

Of course he knows the answer to that question, but he was trying to _not_ let her find out that he had once mildly stalked her, and that he had been more than mildly obsessed with her since then.

“It’s actually Daenerys. My full name, that is. Dany is short for Daenerys.”

“Daenerys,” he breathes out. “It’s a beautiful name.”

She blushes so becomingly that he actually thinks he might cry at the sight.

“Which do you prefer?” He asks.

She shrugs and the movement causes her dress to shift against her body in the most erotic, sensual way.

Fuck how is he going to make it through this evening in a gentlemanly fashion with his dignity intact? 

“Whichever you do”, she replies lowly looking up at him through her long, thick lashes. And he could swear, _swear_ he heard something flirty in her tone.

“I think,” he says drawing it out as though he is pondering it deeply. Which, truth be told, he is. “that you’re Dany when you’re Doctor Dany, but you look very much like a Daenerys tonight.”

She raises an eyebrow quizzically at him.

Fuck, was that too much?

“I just mean. I don’t know, separation of work and time off and all that.” 

“Oh”, she says a little flatly, her smile faltering slightly.

God has he ever fucked anything up this badly before? He rubs the back of his neck wishing that action could erase his very being. How was he making such a mess of this?

“Right, that makes sense.” She says firmly. She takes in a little breath and squares her shoulders, his eyes greedily following the line of her collarbone. 

“So, shall we go?”

“Aye.”

It’s all he can manage.

He offers her his arm. She looks surprised, but he thinks also a little pleased at the gesture as she takes it.

He wants to tuck her in tight beside him, wrap his arm around her waist, but he settles for this. For now 

They arrive at the venue, and it is absolutely stunning.

Not that she can really focus on that with her arm tucked tightly into Jon’s.

Not that she’s been able to focus on anything since he showed up in the doctor’s lounge to get her.

It is absolutely _unreasonable_ how good he looks in a tux.

He shouldn’t be allowed to look like that. How is that even fair? There should be rules against looking like that. They should ship all the people that look like that off to an equally gorgeous island and leave the rest of the sorry population to wallow in their misery in peace.

She knows, _knows_ she’d stared at him for way too long when he came to pick her up. She could see it in his face. How uncomfortable she was making him. She really needs to pull herself together.

He’s one of the best surgeons in the country. Possibly, almost definitely the sexiest man alive. And she’s 85% sure that he has a girlfriend. He’s only here with her because he wants to meet Jeor Mormont.

She needs to keep reminding herself of that.

But it’s hard to do when he’s being so goddamned debonair, and courteous.

They pass a waiter and he plucks two glasses of champagne from the tray, handing one to her, clinking his against hers lightly and looking deep into her eyes.

Damnit.

He should not be _allowed_.

“Thank you.” She manages to stutter out.

“You’re welcome,” he replies softly, still not looking away from her eyes.

Did no one ever teach him it was _rude_ to get women so flustered?

“Let’s find our table for the speeches.” She says for lack of anything better to say, and before she can say something else. Something stupid. Something like begging him to kiss her senseless.

They move deftly through the crowd and find their table.

The speeches are entertaining enough. Though she thinks the champagne must be getting to her head because she could swear that Jon spent the entirety of them slowly and subtly inching his chair, and himself closer and closer to her, into her space.

Thank god dinner is next. That should sober her up some.

The dinner is delicious, and Jon, it turns out, is a delightful dining companion.

He has her laughing so hard at one point she forgets herself and places a hand on his upper arm to steady herself.

Christ, that is one firm bicep. Not that she didn’t already know that from her constant ogling. But it is another thing entirely to feel it.

They’re only talking about work. But they share humorous and horror stories of their days in med school, or in his case, base camp with the army.

Her phone buzzes on the table near them and she looks at the caller I.D – T.L. Fuck, fuckity fuck fuck fuck. What could Tywin possibly want now? Well, she knows what. But she is certainly in no mood, or position to answer him right now. She declines the call.

Their conversation continues. They compare stories of surgeries and past attendings they have worked with, and it’s then that he says something that thoroughly surprises her.

“Of all the people I’ve worked with though, I’ve never felt quite as in sync with someone as I do when I operate with you. It’s like you can read my mind or something. You can’t, can you?” he finishes with a wink.

She gives a nervous little laugh.

“Ah, no, no. I promise I can’t read your mind”

I wish I bloody could though, she thinks to herself. Maybe then she would know what the hell was going on.

“But honestly, I feel the same about operating with you. Though I assumed that was just you being, well, you.”

He crinkles his brow at her in confusion which is perhaps one of the cutest things she has ever seen.

“How do you mean?”

Fuck, she’s flustered. Why had she said that?

“I just mean well, you’re, you’re _you_.”

He laughs, “Aye, I know I’m me. That doesn’t explain what you mean.”

She bites her lip trying to think of a way to phrase this that _won’t_ make her come off sounding like a crazed fan.

“I just mean, well, you’re one of, if not _the_ best surgeons in the country. I just assumed that every surgery you do goes as seamlessly as ours do. Because _you’re_ the one doing them.”

He looks startled, and very flattered.

Damn him. How dare he be genuinely modest as well. Can’t she catch a break? Can’t he like, admit he is the Zodiac Killer or something? Anything to diminish his attractiveness even by a notch.

He moves further towards her and whispers very close to her ear, so close that she can feel his hot breath against her skin, “I promise you Daenerys,” his voice is low, and so fucking sexy, almost like a growl, “there’s something special about the way we work together. That seamlessness. That’s not me. That’s _us_.”

She’s quivering. Literally quivering.

He better say he hates dogs, and kids, and nuns, and that he has a bunker where he experiments illegally on stolen cadavers before he turns their skin into suits that he wears soon or she is going to throw him on the table and ravish him right in front of everyone she works with, to hell with the consequences.

He pulls back and smiles softly at her.

She tries to smile back, but she knows her lips are trembling.

She’s pretty sure the only cure for that trembling would be his lips. On hers. Immediately.

She needs to calm down. She bits her lower lip in an attempt to keep them steady.

“Why don’t you go see if you can meet Doctor Mormont now that dinner is over?” she squeaks. And she knows, _knows_ her voice has come out too loud and too high pitched to be considered normal.

He looks a little disappointed. A little reluctant. Which is strange. The whole reason he had wanted to come tonight was to meet Doctor Mormont. She had just been his ticket in. He’d said so himself.

Her phone starts buzzing again – T.L.

Jon scowls down at it. She supposes it _is_ quite rude to have her phone out. But everyone does. Hell, he does. They’re all doctors. There could be an emergency, and even if none of them could operate right now, they could still organise and give advice.

He scrapes his chair back before she has a chance to decline the call.

“Yeah, I’ll go see if I can catch him. I’ll let you get that.” He says, nodding towards her phone.

“No, I…” But he’s gone before she can finish her sentence. She declines the call miserably and goes back to sipping her champagne.

He’s just finished up a very pleasant and informative talk with Doctor Mormont when someone announces that the dancing is about to start.

This is his chance. He is going to dance with Daenerys and _not_ make an idiot of himself. And yes, that _is_ an order.

But he may need a little more liquid courage.

He snags two more glasses of champagne and brings them over to their table where she is still sitting, engaging in what looks like painful small talk with Doctor Qyburn. A creepy anaesthesiologist.

Well, he can save her from that.

He places his hand lightly on her shoulder to turn her to him, and gives himself a moment to marvel at the feel of her warm, silky smooth skin.

At her questioning look he hands her a glass and offers her a small, but genuine smile.

“Excuse me Doctor Qyburn.” She says politely before turning to him fully and accepting the glass.

She leans close to him and whispers “Thank you. You’re my hero. I thought I’d never get rid of him.”

He chuckles, she giggles and the sound causes his insides to feel very warm.

They drink their fresh glasses bantering back and forth the same as they did before.

After she takes her last sip he stands abruptly. Probably too abruptly because he thinks he might have startled her. But he has to ask before he loses his nerve.

He extends a hand out to her.

“Dance with me?” he asks hoping like hell that he doesn’t sound too desperate for her to agree.

Her eyes widen perceptibly.

Oh god. Oh god. Shit. She doesn’t want to. She only bought him to be polite. Of course she doesn’t want to dance with him.

But then a small, beautiful smile flourishes on her lips and she stands saying “I’d love to.”

She takes his proffered hand and he leads them onto the dance floor where soft, classical music is playing.

He’s nervous as hell. But he’s determined not to mess this up.

He pulls her to him slightly and she winds her arms around him, over his shoulders. He wraps his around her waist, his hands brushing the bare skin of her back. And they begin to sway together.

He can see quite a few of the other male doctors scowling at him. But he doesn’t care. Jealous twats.

He had Daenerys in his arms. Literally nothing could spoil his mood right now.

They dance for several songs.

Daenerys’ arms still wrapped loosely around his shoulders. Her delicate hands occasionally brushing the bare skin of his neck, her gorgeous body pressed slightly flush against him.

He thinks he’ll die if this contact ever breaks. It feels like a very real possibility that he could. Yes, when she stops touching him he will certainly, definitely die. And he’s a doctor. He would know. Trust him on this.

She lowers her head to rest on his shoulder and his nose is suddenly full of the sweet scent of her hair.

Maybe he’ll die anyway. He’d be happy to go out like this. He can’t remember ever having felt so content as he does in this moment. With her in his arms.

But, like all glorious, wonderful, amazing things, the evening eventually has to come to an end.

He doesn’t want to part with her. He feels like they’d gotten closer tonight. That maybe he could, at the very least, call her a friend now instead of just someone he works with.

Even if he wants so much more.

He offers to share a taxi home with her. It turns out they do not live that far apart.

She smiles shyly at him and agrees.

The ride is mostly silent. But not an awkward, unpleasant silence. A peaceful one. Just two people basking in an evening well enjoyed.

He gets out with her when they reach her house first to walk her to her door.

He knows this wasn’t a date. But he still wants to do this. He doesn’t think he’d be able to stop himself if he tried. Anything for a few more moments with her.

She smiles up at him when they reach her front door. He thinks it’s adorable that, even in heels, she has to look up slightly to see his face.

God, she’d be so easy to sweep up into his arms and carry away. But he’s not a bloody caveman, so he settles on smiling back.

“Thank you for coming with me tonight, Jon. I had a wonderful time.”

His heart skips a beat.

“So did I,” he replies inching ever so slightly closer to her.

“Thank you for inviting me. It meant a lot.”

She looks down, her lips pouting slightly.

“Of course, couldn’t have you miss your chance to get to meet Doctor Mormont. I’m happy for you that you two got to have a good talk.”

Damnit. That’s not what he’d meant. He’s about to correct her when her phone goes off again. The same person that has been calling all night: T.L. Whoever the hell they are.

He’s frustrated at the interruption.

“I hope that’s not the hospital, you’re certainly not fit to operate right now.” He says, trying for a joke to cover his annoyance.

She’s looking a little distressed.

“No, no it’s not. But it is…”

“Something you have to take care of?” he finishes for her.

She nods slowly.

“Yeah,” she sighs out in a frustrated breath.

He tries to put on a smile.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it then. Goodnight, Doctor Dany.”

“Goodnight, Doctor Snow” she replies softly, and he could swear she sounded disappointed.

But why?

As he walks back to the taxi and gets in he thinks about all the phone calls.

He wonders then if maybe she _does_ have a boyfriend and he is just out of town which is why he hasn’t accompanied her tonight.

Or maybe they had a fight, probably about how perfect she is, and it is him that is calling her relentlessly now to apologise.

It _had_ been a while since he’d heard the nurses say she was definitely single. She could have been scooped up by some awesome fighter pilot or something since then. Someone who wasn’t an awkward mess around her, and who didn’t let opportunities pass him by. 

But surely he hadn’t misread the signals tonight had he? He was so sure she had been flirting with him.

Hadn’t she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Banner made by the wonderful turner-cris on tumblr


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for Lillian81 for being such a sweetheart.
> 
> And also for ThatBishLizzie, and NotReadyForPrimetimeEmmy for being so supportive - without you two being so kind I doubt this chapter would have ever gotten written.
> 
> Also, thank you so, so much to the wonderful, delightful people who left comments on the last chapter. They really made me smile - and we all need a good smile right now.
> 
> So please, read, and I hope you enjoy two ridiculous idiots in love to distract you a bit from the fact that we all can't go outside

Dany slams the door to her bathroom behind her. Even a luxurious bath hadn’t been enough to lighten her mood.

She’s thoroughly confused over the way Jon acted at the end of tonight.

She’d thought they’d been having a good time. They’d laughed, and talked at the gala, and everything had seemed like it was going well. Great. Spectacular.

They’d even danced together. And it had been wonderful. Wrapped up in his strong arms, swaying gently to the music with him. Getting to breath in the delicious smell of him.

And then there was a second there, at her door when she’d even stupidly, foolishly thought that he might have been about to kiss her.

Why else would he walk her to her door?

Isn’t that why people walk other people to their door?

She'd thought...

Well, clearly it was all one-sided.

She gives a little screech of frustration.

Did he get his kicks out of giving women mixed signals or something?

That really should make him less attractive to her. But somehow it doesn’t. Probably because she knows it had just been her reading the interaction wrong. That she is just so desperate to see what she wants to see in their contact that she misinterprets basic human decency for flirting.

He is just a nice guy. A gentleman who walks people to their doors – and she was the pathetic idiot with a massive crush who misconstrued that kindness as something so much more.

But why, _why_ had he called her Doctor Dany when he said goodbye when he’d spent the entire evening calling her Daenerys in a ridiculously smooth, tone of voice?

Was that his polite way of calling the casual portion of their interactions to a finite and definite end? Like some improv troop announcing ‘ _And Scene’_ , so that she wouldn’t have any ideas about what they were beyond co-workers when she saw him next?

That must be it. He was just trying to draw a line. One she wanted to leap over like an Olympic pole vaulter, desperately. But she knew she had to respect the boundaries he was clearly trying to create between them.

But somehow, him calling her that had managed to upset her even more than Tywin (something she truly didn’t think was possible – no one upset her more than Tywin) whose call she had answered as soon as she’d gotten in.

It was, as she suspected, him demanding she meet with him tomorrow afternoon in his usual, no arguments tone of voice.

She’d had no choice but to agree.

She slithers in to bed, feeling decidedly sorry for herself.

She goes to set her alarm and sees that EisSnow has messaged her.

**EisSnow:** So… I have **_GREAT_** news, and I have **_MISERABLE_** news. Which do you want to hear first?

She laughs despite her current mood. EisSnow can be so dramatic.

**Queen_Calli:** The **_‘GREAT’_** news, please. I need it right now

**EisSnow:** Okay, get this: I heard a rumour (from a very credible source, mind you) that the fifth book is _finally_ with the editor. Right now. Like, right now!! We could be getting it SO soon!!! Can you believe it?

Fucking Tywin. _Of course_ he would leak that. Anything to drum up a little extra publicity.

She groans, sets her alarm, and puts her phone on silent. She feels bad for not replying to EisSnow, especially since they sound so excited. But they’re excited about something that is currently causing her nothing but dread, and she’s not sure she will be able to successfully hide that fact.

She really can’t deal with anything else right now. She hits the lights and falls into a sullen, broken sleep.

The next morning Jon is sitting in his kitchen with his head bowed over a steaming cup of coffee, Ghost’s head resting on his lap, commiserating miserably about how he ended the evening with Daenerys.

Fucking T.L.

_Why hadn’t he kissed her?_

Who the fuck was fucking T.L?

_Why had he called her Doctor Dany when he said goodbye?_

Fucking T.L.

_They’d gotten on so well all night. He could have sworn she wanted him to kiss her._

Fucking T.L.

He hopes T.L. is a man so he can like, challenge him to a duel or something for interrupting his perfect moment of opportunity.

But then… if T.L. is a man then there is a chance he might be Daenerys’ boyfriend. And that will not do.

Fucking T.L.

Arya, as usual – why the fuck does he keep talking to her about this? – had been little to no help when he’d called her to complain after he’d arrived home last night.

“How was your date?” she’d begun the conversation. Again, no preamble. Someone really needs to teach his little sister proper phone etiquette.

“It wasn’t a date.” He’d grumbled despondently.

At that, she had seemed to pick up on something in his voice and had tried, in her patented Arya way, to be nice, and supportive. Well… she’d at least attempted to give him some advice.

“But you wanted it to be, right?”

“Aye, but I…”

“You knew it wasn’t a date going in. You whined about _that_ for a solid hour before going. If you want something to be a date, you need to tell her you want it to be a date. Did you do that?” she’d asked sternly, as though that would be easy. As though if it were that easy he wouldn’t have done it months ago.

“No.” he’d replied, and he knows he’d sounded petulant.

“Well, what did you say to her about it? During the night I mean”

“I think I may have, accidentally, inadvertently, perhaps, made it seem as though she was just my way in to get to meet Doctor Mormont…” he mutters.

“Oh, Jon” Arya sighs, “You useless, love sick, idiot.”

“I panicked, okay? I didn’t want to freak her out.”

“What makes you think you’d freak her out?”

He’d thought on that long and hard. “I don’t know. I just… it would come off a bit sudden, don’t you think?”

“Jon, you fucking goon,” she’d all but screamed at him, “you’ve been pining over this woman, making a complete dweeb out of yourself every time you are around her for what, nearly two years now?”

He’d cringed. Shit, she was right. It really had been that long.

“What part of you asking her out would strike anyone as _sudden_ at this point? You’re lucky she’s apparently as hopeless as you are and hasn’t given up on you entirely.”

“I think she might have.” He’d pouted. “Someone was calling her all night. What if she has a boyfriend?”

Arya sighed at him, “Did she look happy when her phone was ringing?”

“No.” He admitted. Because she really hadn’t. Indeed, the calls had seemed to have been causing her a significant amount of stress.

“Did she interrupt you at any point to answer her phone?”

“No.” He replied, starting to breathe easier. Maybe he doesn’t give Arya enough credit.

“Did she answer the phone _at all_?”

“No.”

“Well then,” said Arya, and she’d sounded positively smug. “It sounds to me like she was much preferring spending time with you than whatever would have come from one of those calls. Did you catch a glimpse of the caller I.D?”

“Aye,” he’d growled. “No name, just some twatty initials, T.L.”

“Well, there you have it. No one puts their boyfriend in their phone under their initials.”

“They would if their boyfriend was someone super rich and famous and they had to be careful about their identity, like… like… like… I don’t know Taylor Lautner or something.”

Arya had burst out laughing at him for a full couple of minutes.

“You dick,” she said, when she’d finally gotten her breath back – though she was still laughing. Brat.

“You really think she is dating Taylor Lautner? Isn’t she your age? Didn’t you say she was classy? And now you’ve got some conspiracy theory that she is dating the dude from Twilight, who is way too young for her, all because of some initials on her caller I.D that she didn’t even want to pick up the phone to.”

“Urgh, fine. Obviously it’s not Taylor Lautner, but that was the first famous name I could think of with those initials, alright?”

“I think that says more about you than it does about her dating life, brother.” She’d teased him.

“Fuck you.”

“I love you too.” She’d replied sounding immeasurably pleased with herself. “But here’s a crazy, random, out of the box thought… why don’t you just, oh, I don’t know, _ASK_ her if she is seeing anyone? At least then you’d know for sure and you can move forward one way or another.”

“I can’t just… you can’t just… Arya, you don’t just walk up to people and ask them if they are seeing someone.” He’d spluttered, both affronted and terrified by the mere thought.

“I did it to Gendry.”

“Yes, and it is well established that you are a psychopath when it comes to human interaction. What else you got?”

“Oh, so you _want_ the advice of a psychopath now?”

“Arya, please? I’m a desperate man.”

She’d sighed and gone quiet for a while.

Finally, “I dunno… get her some flowers or something. To say thank you for taking you to the gala. Put something in the card. Something clear. Like, thank her for the invite, say you had a great time, that you would love to do it again sometime, and that you have several real estate listings bookmarked on your computer and would she please take a look at them at her earliest possible convenience to decide what house the two of you should move in to together ASAP.”

He’d hung up on her as she was busy laughing at her own supposed wit.

But he was thinking about it again now.

He was certainly, definitely not just going to march up to her and ask her if she was seeing anyone.

Yes, they’d be in a hospital with crash carts all around. But he thinks it would take away some of the smoothness if she had to use one to revive him right after he asked her.

Flowers though. He could work with that.

He brightens suddenly.

He knows the _exact_ ones he wants to get her. Ordinarily he wouldn’t be so forward. But he knows for a fact that she hates Game of Thrones. She’d said so herself. So there’s no way she would know what the flowers mean.

He’d had to visit eight different flower shops, but finally he has what he wanted.

He’s just finished purchasing the flowers for Daenerys when he decides to message Queen_Calli again. She hadn’t responded to his last message yet. But looking desperate online doesn’t feel half as mortifying as it does in real life.

**EisSnow** : Well? Aren’t you excited about the book? Will you finally start speculating with me now that the end is in sight?

She responds rather quickly.

**Queen_Calli:** Don’t try and trick me into speculating :) Sorry I didn’t reply earlier. What is your miserable news?

He smiles to himself as he makes his way to the hospital. It might not be as miserable as he’d first anticipated.

She’s early for her meeting with Tywin, waiting outside his office when she receives a reply from EisSnow.

She may as well check it. She always does Tywin the courtesy of arriving early. And he, without fail, does her the discourtesy of keeping her waiting well past their established meeting time. She knows he has nothing better to do. That it’s just a ridiculous power-play on his part. Whatever. She’ll let the asshole have his pettiness.

**EisSnow:** Well… I was going to tell you about something that happened with the woman that I am kind of, maybe, alright 100% crushing on / basically in love with… but then, when you didn’t reply it gave me time to think. It’s probably not right talking to you about it, and asking your advice. I don’t know anything about you (this isn’t me fishing for information, it’s just me trying to make my point). For all I know, you are like, 16 or something. And I would feel very, very creepy and wrong asking a kid about my love life, you know? Like, that would be beyond the realms of impropriety. No offence or anything :)

Huh. She really should have thought of that herself. Here she is having these full-blown conversations with this person and _they_ could be some teenager.

Fuck. She hopes they’re not a teenager for a number of reasons. One, because of how extra pathetic it would make her, the only person she really communicates with being a random _teenager_ whose name she doesn’t even know. Not to mention the very detailed, explicit, and rather arousing sex scene she had read in their fanfiction.

Gross. Ew. Gross. She doesn’t think she could live with herself if she had read something like that written by a teenager. That is ten thousand flavours of wrong.

**Queen_Calli:** No offence taken. This may sound insane, but I honestly hadn’t given it that much thought until you just bought it up. I can assure you that my teen years are well in my rear view mirror – but, I know that all you have for that is my word. So, how about we just stick to the books, and ragging on the show from now on. For all I know _you’re_ the one who is a teenager. I mean, you’re the one with a _crush._ So yeah, strictly GoT based stuff from now on? But, for what it’s worth… whatever it is that is bothering you about her… just ask her. She might be just as confused as you are.

She means it. She doesn’t want to be discussing the personal life of someone she knows literally nothing about. Yes, EisSnow is incredibly smart and articulate. But a lot of teenagers are. She’s not going to take the chance. She couldn’t help herself from adding that last bit though. It hit too close to home and whatever the hell it was the was going on between her and Jon. Sorry. _Doctor Snow_.

**EisSnow:** For the record, my teen years are well behind me too. Maybe I’ll ask D.S. Targ. for advice – they responded to me once you know :) They may do so again… and I know they’re an adult. But I get your point. Books only from here on out. And since there’s only one to go… we should probably speculate on it… ;)

She laughs to herself. If only they knew that they technically _were_ asking D.S. Targ for advice at this very moment…

Maybe she’ll tell them once this is all over.

**Queen_Calli:** You’re never going to stop bragging about that are you? And stop trying to make speculating happen. It’s not going to happen :)

**EisSnow:** NEVER!! It is my crowning achievement. Ha, never picked you for a Mean Girl. I guess though that is kind of proof of what you are saying. Showing your age there, Queen_Calli ;)

She’s laughing at his reply as Tywin’s secretary calls her name.

Yep, twenty minutes past when their meeting was supposed to start. Tywin is nothing if not predictable.

She walks in to his office and sits in the chair opposite him at his desk.

His eyes are cold and hard, as usual.

“No.” is all he says dropping her heavy manuscript onto the desk between them with a very final sounding thump.

No hello. No nothing.

“What do you mean, no?” she asks him politely.

She knows exactly what he means, but there is no way in hell she is going to make this easy for him. She’s not twenty two anymore. She’s not scared of him.

Well… not really…

He glares at her menacingly. She tries not to let it show how much it effects her.

“I mean, no. I am not publishing that.”

“May I ask why not?” she’s still trying to maintain an aura of politeness, but she has a feeling it is going to be snapping very, very soon.

“Are you dense, girl? You know why not. It is entirely different from the way the show ended.”

“I am well aware of that. That’s because no one from the show even considered asking me if they were taking the story in the right direction.”

“And why should they have asked you? It is their show.”

“And it is _my_ story. This is how it goes. This is how it ends. This is how it was _always_ going to end. You know that. I laid the whole thing out for you ten years ago.”

Tywin scowls, “Well, things have changed since then. Do you know how this will make Peytr and Varys look if the book ends so blatantly different from their show? What it will do to their reputations?”

“They should have thought about that before veering so wildly away from the source material” she retorts.

“Don’t get smart with me. The show was a resounding success. People were very satisfied with the ending…”

“The ending,” she grits out through her teeth, interrupting him, “was a cataclysmic failure of epic proportions. It was so bad they got _fired_ from their next job because of it.”

“You don’t know that’s why that happened.” He snaps dangerously.

She just scoffs at him. “It got tanked by critics and fans alike. People were livid over it.”

“Not all of them. Not the ones we want to keep. The audience we are aiming for was very much in favour of that ending.”

“I don’t know what xenophobic, gas-lighted morons you’ve been talking to, Tywin, but the overwhelming consensus was that the final season was rushed, poorly written and a complete retcon of everything that had happened before. But that’s not even the point. This,” she taps the printed out pages with her finger, “is how the story ends.”

“Then change it.”

“No.”

“Then it will never see the light of day. Lannister House will not be publishing this garbage.”

“I have a contract.”

“One which I can break at any time. You really should read things properly before you sign them. You _will_ be changing this book, or it will never be published. I will personally see to it.”

She glares at him. But she knows she needs to hold her tongue. She needs to re-read over her contract before she says anything else. She needs to know exactly what it is she is working with.

“Because I am a generous man, I will give you one week to decide. Now get out of my office.”

She does just that. Standing abruptly and slamming the door with force behind her.

She storms out of the offices and through the front door where she almost bumps directly into Tyrion.

He looks up at her, amused.

“Well, how did that go?”

She scowls. “I think the fact that you’re lurking out here waiting for me tells me you know _exactly_ how that went.”

He nods at her in agreeance.

“So, please, just give me whatever spiel it is your father wanted you to say to me so I can be on my way. I have to get to work.”

He smiles kindly at her, which is _not_ the reaction she had been anticipating from her rather rude tirade. “I loved the book.” Says Tyrion simply.

She eyes him warily.

“I’m certain that is _not_ what your father wanted you to say to me.” She replies.

“You’re an intelligent woman. I’m sure you can gather from the fact that I am _‘lurking out here’_ waiting for you that I’m not here to tell you anything on behalf of my father.” He responds good naturedly, still smiling at her. There’s a devious twinkle in his eye.

“Then what do you want?” she asks rather bluntly. She likes Tyrion, she does. But she’s been burnt too many times by Tywin to freely trust anything and anyone associated with Lannister House.

“I want to help you. If you’ll let me.”

Now she’s confused.

“Help me how?”

“Help you get your book, your _real_ book published. The way that you want it.”

Well, that just seems too good to be true.

“Why would you do that?” she asks suspiciously.

“What do you think of my father?” he asks instead of answering.

“Your father is a cunt.” She says bluntly. Normally she’d try and couch the sentiment. But she’s in no mood right now. And if this is a trick she might as well find out about it sooner rather than later.

Tyrion laughs delightedly.

“He is. He really is. And that’s why I want to help. Well, one of the reasons. If _you_ think he’s a cunt, imagine what _I_ think of him. I was raised by the man.”

“So you just want revenge on your father?”

“That’s part of the reason, yes. But like I said, I really did love your book. _That’s_ the ending the series deserves. Not that horse-piss Peytr and Varys spewed out.”

She’s still looking at him skeptically.

“Come now, Daenerys. You know I’ve always been a fan of your books. I particularly like that Soleon character – clever fellow he is. Hated what the show did to him. As if he would ever betray Calliope.” He sounds slighted by the very thought, as though he had taken it rather personally.

She’s torn. Tyrion has always been kind to her. It is true. And it doesn’t take a psychologist to see that he and his father don’t see eye to eye. But still…

“I have a contract, Tyrion,” she sighs. “I need to find someone to look over it, to see if your father can really do what he is threatening to do.”

“Your contract is as ironclad as he claims it to be I’m afraid.”

She struggles to blink back a few tears of frustration and disappointment.

“So why bother talking to me now then? If there’s nothing that can be done?”

His smile turns positively wicked.

“Now, now, I said your contract was ironclad. I didn’t say there was nothing that could be done.”

“Then what…”

“Leave it with me. Please. Trust me. I think I have a plan. The less you know about it right now the better. Just, don’t agree to anything he says until I’ve gotten back to you. Please. Can you do that?”

“He only gave me a week.”

“I’ve gotten more done in less time. You’ll be hearing from me.”

He grabs her hand and gives it a warm squeeze, “Trust me.” He implores.

She’s not sure. But she does know she has nothing to lose, so she nods.

Tyrion grins at her then makes his way back in to the office building.

She’s agitated and confused by the time she gets to the hospital for her evening shift.

She makes her way over to her locker and that’s when she sees them.

Flowers.

Very beautiful flowers.

Very specific, beautiful flowers.

A quick glance at the bottom of the card tells her that they are from Jon.

But why these particular flowers?

They are Calliope flowers. But not just any Calliope flowers. They are Calliope lavender roses.

They are the exact flowers she had growing through the Wall in Calliope’s vision - the vision which foreshadows her eventual meeting with Tom.

And lavender roses mean adoration, enchantment, romance, love at first sight.

She would know. All of this is in her first four books.

But he surely couldn’t know all of that. Could he?

Why would he?

He’s never mentioned Game of Thrones beyond asking her if she liked the show one time. He hadn’t seemed enthused about it either.

And she seriously doubts he’s read the books. He just doesn’t seem the type. And the flower had never made it into the show. Only the books.

But then again, they aren’t a particularly popular flower…

Fuck, is she doomed to constantly see messages where there are none? To hope for something that isn’t there?

The card attached clears things up rather easily, if not depressingly.

It is kind, but to the point.

_Doctor Dany,_ (professional, proper. That’s all the evidence she really needs that the flowers were just a random choice)

_Thank you for inviting me to the gala last night. I had a great time. I hope you did too._

_Doctor Snow._

How many times is she going allow herself to get her hopes up only to have them shot to pieces?

Still, it is a lovely gesture, and she should thank him.

She places the flowers ever so gently back into her locker and goes looking for him, hoping he is at the Hospital.

It doesn’t take too long to find him.

He’s just exiting the CCU as she spots him. Looking as goddamned fucking gorgeous as ever.

She wants him to _stop_ looking like that.

He can’t dance with her, and walk her to her door, and give her flowers, and want nothing else to do with her and _still_ get to look like _that._

It just isn’t fair.

“Doctor Snow,” she greets walking up to him, trying her best to keep her hormones in check, and her heart rate normal.

“Doctor Dany.” He exclaims, cheerful as always as he says it. “What can I do for you?”

This is a hospital for fucks sake. It’s all overhead, fluorescent lighting. Shouldn’t he look like a troll like the rest of them do?

“I, umm, I just wanted to thank you. To uh, to thank you for the flowers. You didn’t have to. I mean, I loved them. Uh, liked them a lot. But it really wasn’t necessary.”

He smiles at her warmly.

“I wanted to.” He says, and his voice is low, as though they are sharing a secret. “And I’m glad you loved, sorry, liked them.” He grins.

Cheeky bugger.

It’s not her fault he turns her into a babbling pile of goo.

But she needs to know, so she soldiers on to what she really wanted to ask.

“They are very pretty. I’ve hardly ever seen them before. Why did you pick those ones?” her heart is literally in her throat as she waits for his answer.

She can barely breathe.

Would it seem odd if she grabbed an oxygen mask right now?

“Oh, I uh,” he coughs a little and pauses for a moment. Finally he grins at her and says simply “I just got the ones that smelled the nicest. You know, so you’d know they were actually flowers amongst all the antiseptic of the Hospital.”

Oh.

Right.

Of course.

Yep. She should never get her hopes up.

But he’s still grinning at her. And his face is a little flushed, and he looks so handsome, and he _did_ do a nice thing for her, and she is making a million rationalisations for what she wants to do. What she is about to do.

“Well, they do smell lovely, and it was very sweet of you. So,” she stretches up onto her toes and kisses him tenderly on his warm, bearded cheek, “thank you” she finishes softly, whispering it into his skin. 

When she pulls away she sees that he is staring at her, and that he is more than flushed now.

Oh fuck.

Fuck.

Oh fuck. Oh Christ. That was too much, wasn’t it? 

Way, way too much.

Okay. Damage control.

Should she invent an elaborate backstory for herself about how she is from a culture where kissing people on the cheek is the expected way to express gratitude and feed it to the Hospital rumour-mill? Should she start kissing everyone on the cheek when within Doctor Snow’s viewing range so he thinks it is normal for her? Or should she just go all out, change her name, move to the isolation of the woods and never interact with another human being ever again?

It is silent. Deafeningly, terribly silent.

And they are both still staring at one another. Her cheeks are burning, and he looks equally awkward.

Fuck.

“Was that my pager?” She blurts suddenly, loudly, looking down at it.

It wasn’t. And she knows he knows it. As she mentioned, it is painfully silent. They both would have heard her pager go off.

“I better get this,” she says in a rush already starting to walk away, backwards, tripping over herself far more than she would like.

“Thanks again, Doctor Snow” She squeaks before turning and outright running off in a random direction. 

Jon is banging his head against the wall in the bathroom.

Why, _why_ had he backtracked about the flowers? Why hadn’t he just told her what they meant?

It had been his opening.

He is such a fucking coward.

But then again, he doesn’t want her to know that he is a massive fantasy nerd. That is the kind of thing he will reveal once they have been married for six to ten years, and he’s hopefully earned enough goodwill with her that she won’t divorce him for being a fandom geek.

Woah, reel it in there, Snow. Getting way ahead of yourself. How about you walk before you start to run.

And why hadn’t he reacted properly when she had kissed him. _Kissed him._

Okay, it was only on the cheek, but still. She didn’t have to do that. And all he’d managed was to gape at her like a zombie.

He really is such a fucking coward.

He needs to do something.

He’s not going to flat out ask her if she has a boyfriend. Regardless of the fact that both Arya, and Queen_Calli have told him it would be the easiest way to do things.

Because he is, as he mentioned, a big fucking coward when it comes to her.

But there is someone he can ask.

He exists the bathroom and makes his way to the nurses station.

He spies his target.

Thankfully, she is alone.

“Irri, can I ask you a question?” he whispers in what he hopes is a conspiratorial sounding voice.

She sighs long sufferingly. “What is it you want to know about Doctor Targaryen, Doctor Snow?”

He splutters, alarmed. “How do you know I...”

She merely raises a no nonsense eyebrow at him.

Well, apparently he had been more than a little obvious. 

“Okay fine”

Irri smirks triumphantly 

“Do you know if she has a boyfriend?” He blurts out quickly before he loses the little courage he has.

“I do know that isn’t any of your business,” she replies slyly.

“What if I ummm... what if I wanted it to be my business?” He stutters bashfully.

Irri eyes him suspiciously.

“You don’t own a van do you, Doctor Snow?”

“What? No. Why would you ask me that?”

“What about your closet? If I were to look in there would I find a weird shrine to Doctor Targaryen with locks of her hair, long lens photographs of her, and terrible poetry about her plastered all over the walls?”

“What? No! I….”

“Do you have a secret tattoo with D.T plus J.S forever, surrounded by a heart?”

“Of course not I…”

He pulls himself from his bemusement at her strange, quick-fire questions to see that Irri is doing her best to contain her laughter.

“You’re messing with me?”

“Of course I am. Though, I must admit, I am reluctant to tell you. There is nothing quite as entertaining in this hospital as watching you two pine helplessly, and cluelessly after one another.”

“Oh, come on, Irri. Please tell me, I… wait. Did you say _she_ is pining after _me_?” he asks and the hope in his voice is as plain as the nose on his face.

Irri snorts. “Like I said, clueless. I will miss this. But no, Doctor Snow. Doctor Targaryen does not have a boyfriend, a girlfriend, a lover, or even a pet.”

He’s grinning like the madman Irri had been jokingly accusing him of being. He can feel it.

He doesn’t care though. She _is_ single. And _apparently_ she likes him too. He will grin like a fool all he wants.

Now he has the information he needed. He just has to do something about it.

Suddenly, a plan forms in his mind. They have their staff insurance physicals tomorrow. He cajoles Irri into changing the schedule so that Doctor Dany will be doing his.

“But Doctor Snow, if you could wait four more months before making your move I would greatly appreciate it.”

He looks at her quizzically.

“If you do I’ll win the staff-wide pool on when you two were finally going to get your shit together.”

He laughs, even though he knows he should be embarrassed. A staff-wide pool? Fuck, he really had been clueless.

“Well, you should have thought of that before telling me everything I needed to know.” He taunts her, still smiling like a maniac.

“Exactly, I told you. So you should do me this solid and wait another four months. I was going to buy a jet-ski with that money.”

“No way in hell am I waiting now that I know that… hang on. A jet-ski? Just how much money is in this pool?”

She smirks at him again. “A. Lot.” She enunciates. “You two have been driving everyone around the twist. So, you’ll wait?”

“Not a fucking chance” he basically sings joyfully.

He can hear her grumbling obscenities about him as she stomps off, but he really, really doesn’t care.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow is going to be the day.

He just has to make one quick stop before work…

The next day he is in the private room set aside for the staff insurance physicals, sitting on the bed, on his hands (in a vain attempt to stop them from shaking), and waiting for Daenerys.

Finally she walks in, looking as stunning as ever.

“Good morning, Doctor Snow,” she says politely.

“Mornin’, Doctor Dany” he replies.

Did that sound normal?

Fuck he hopes so.

He can barely contain his trembling. If she started his physical right now he’d probably be immediately hospitalised for high blood pressure, high heart rate, hyperventilation, and what people would assume to be the onset of a neurological condition given his shaking.

She smiles at him kindly, “This won’t take long, I promise. I know you’ve got a lot to do.”

All he can do is nod at her.

She looks slightly perplexed at his silence, but she carries on.

“Alright, I’ll get started then.”

“Wait.” He fairly screams at her.

Shit, screaming at the woman of his dreams had _not_ been part of the plan.

“Wait, you can’t start yet. You’re not dressed properly.”

She looks down at her plain blue scrubs, confused.

“What do you mean? I…”

“When you see a patient you always wear a top in their favourite colour, with their favourite thing on it.” He says as though this is an unassailable fact. Which, really, it is.

She laughs lightly.

He wants to sigh happily, it is _such_ a pretty sound.

“Are you six, Doctor Snow? Because if you are someone in records has made a huge mistake. It says here on your chart that you are thirty two.” She’s smiling at him, and he cannot help but smile back.

“But I’m a patient.” He says, trying his best to pull off puppy dog eyes and an adorable pout.

She giggles at his antics.

“Well, I am sorry, but you’ve caught me unprepared. I’m afraid I don’t know your favourite colour, nor your favourite thing.”

Okay, this is it.

“Good thing I came equipped for just such a scenario.” He replies reaching into his bag with his still very shaky hands.

He pulls out a black scrub top and hands it to her.

She takes it carefully, still looking him in the eye, confused.

Then she looks down and unfolds it.

He’s holding his breath.

All over the scrub top, hundreds of times, the words ‘Doctor Dany’ and ‘Daenerys Targaryen’ are printed in various bright colours.

She looks back up at him and, if possible, she looks even more confused.

“I… I don’t understand. Did you make me a personalised scrub top?” she asks quietly.

Okay, now this, this is finally it.

Don’t fuck it up, Snow.

“No, see, I’m your patient, and you always wear a top in your patient’s favourite colour, covered in their favourite thing…”

She sucks in a sharp, unsteady breath.

“And black’s my favourite colour, you see. And well, well… you’re. You are my favourite thing.”

He chances a look into her eyes and notices that they are wider than he has ever seen them.

She looks to be in complete shock.

He’s very, _very_ glad he hadn’t gone with his first idea and gotten it covered with pictures of her face.

Not that he has a picture of her.

That would have had her running for the hills screaming for sure.

Plus, Irri _definitely_ would have had something to say about that level of creepiness.

He scratches at his beard, getting worried at her complete lack of response.

“You’re my favourite thing. Person. Anything. Everything. And I was really hoping I could take you out on a…”

He’s cut off abruptly by the most wonderful interruption this world has ever seen.

By Daenerys Targaryen cradling his face in her hands and pressing her lips against his.

Soft. Oh god. Her lips are even softer than he had imagined. Her hands are gently caressing his cheeks as her lips continue to caress his, and he is certain that this is what heaven feels like.

He wraps his arms around her waist to pull her closer and she moans quietly into his mouth.

Yes. Definitely heaven.

He never, ever wants this moment to end.

He wants to stay here forever. His hands exploring the expanse of her back, and her sides. Hers now winding into his curls, her nails creating the most delicious tingling sensation against his scalp. Their tongues twining together at last. Tiny pants, and little moans filling the room.

It is sheer bliss.

Bliss.

Before he gets too carried away and throws her down on the hospital bed, she pulls away gently.

God she’s gorgeous. Her expression is so soft. Her eyes are sparkling and the most beautiful little shy smile is playing about on her lips.

“Date.” He finishes trying to sound steady. “I was hoping I could take you out on a date.”

Her stunning smile widens slowly, but surely.

“I’d love that”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Banner made by the wonderful turner-cris on tumblr


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all the very lovely people who left comments on the last chapter. You guys are all fantastic xx

Jon is absolutely flying high when he gets home from the Hospital.

He did it. He finally asked out Doctor Dany.

No, Daenerys.

And she said yes.

And she kissed him.

And now they are dating.

Well… they’re going out on a date.

But one date leads to dating.

He’s going to make sure of it.

But first, he has some bragging to do to a certain bully of a sister.

He calls Arya.

“What’s up buttercup?” she answers after the third ring.

Well, at least that was preamble. Everything really is coming up Jon today.

He fills her in on everything that happened with Daenerys excitedly.

She’s quiet for a while then:

“Are you sure she wasn’t drunk?”

“No! Arya, we were at work.”

“Drugged?”

“Of course not, she…”

“You weren’t holding her at gunpoint were you?”

“Fuck off, Arya. She said yes, of her own clear, and free will and volition. She even kissed me.” he finishes unable to keep the pride, or joy out of his voice.

“Ahhh, so she’d hit her head then.” says Arya in a voice that suggests she _finally_ understands.

“Fuck you. She likes me. One of the nurses told me. And she said yes. And she kissed me. And we’re going out tomorrow. So there.” He sticks his tongue out at her despite the fact that a) it is childish, and b) she can’t even see him.

It makes him feel better anyway.

“Oh, well if one of the random nurses told you then it _must_ be true.” She says sarcastically.

He’s considering switching this to a FaceTime call just so he can give her the finger.

But then a thought occurs to him like ice water being poured down his shirt. What if Irri _had_ been messing with him? Not about the stuff she admitted she was messing with him about, but about _everything_?

He starts hyperventilating slightly.

“Oh my god, you’re right. What if she just kissed me to be polite? Or to shut me up?” 

“Bloody hell, every day with you it’s talking you off of a different ledge.” Arya bemoans.

“I was just fucking with you, Jon. She’d be an idiot not to like you. And from what you told me you really wooed her. Admittedly in the dorkiest way possible. But she clearly seemed to like it.”

“But what if…”

“Look, if she only kissed you to shut you up she would have done it forever ago, because god knows you’ve been nothing but a babbling mess around her since the day you met her.”

Which is mean. But, well… fair.

“Remind me why I keep asking you for advice again?” he sighs out.

“Because despite your advanced age, I am still better at romantic relationships than you are.” says Arya, very matter of factly.

“I’m not so sure about that...”

“Yes,” she interrupts him, “I am well aware you still ask Gendry every time you see him to blink twice if he needs help.” 

“He told you?” Jon asks, feeling betrayed.

“He tells me everything. Because we are a fantastic couple. You should be honoured I am willing to give you my pro tips. Arya Stark: Expert in love. Expert in life. I should be charging you for these gems of wisdom.”

“What gems of wisdom? So far all you’ve done is make fun of me.” He complains.

“Now, now Jon, I just want you to be happy” she says in an overly saccharine tone of voice. “And if giving you advice just so happens to coincide directly with my amusement well...”

She’s laughing at him. Flat out laughing.

“You’re horrible.” He says bluntly.

“I know” she replies still laughing. 

“But seriously,” she says, and he can hear that he is about to get actual kind sisterly advice, and support from her. “I’m really happy for you.”

“Thanks, I…”

“I mean, it took you long enough. I figured I would have to wait til you were both senile in a retirement facility and trick the pair of you into believing you’d been together all along just to make this thing happen.”

“That would be highly unethical…”

“Judge me all you want. I get results.” she scoffs superiorly.

“You’re a psychopath.”

“And you’re a grown man who calls his little sister for love advice. Which,” she announces grandly, “I shall now dispense. When is this date? And where are you taking her?”

“I’m taking her to the Kings Landing Food and Fireworks Festival. It takes place twice a month, and it just so happens to be on tomorrow. I thought it would make a good first date. Casual enough that there isn’t too much pressure. But romantic enough that she knows I really mean it.”

“That’s sweet. And..?”

“What do you mean, ‘and’..?”

“Why else there?”

Blast her to hell. Why can she see right through him?

“Okay, it also might have something to do with the fact that it was happening tomorrow and I wanted us to go out as soon as possible before she could potentially change her mind.”

“And _there_ is it” Arya crows triumphantly.

Brat.

“But she seemed really excited about it. She’s never been. And I haven’t either. It will be great.”

Arya is silent.

“It will be great.”

More silence. He checks to see if the call has dropped.

It hasn’t.

“It _will_ be _great_.” He says more firmly than he had any of the previous times.

Arya sighs and she sounds so happy, “I know it will brother, but no amount of me saying it was going to get through to you. You had to convince yourself.”

“You’re evil.”

“An evil genius, maybe.”

“Arya?” he says softly.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks” he can’t keep the emotion out of his voice. She really is the best sister in the world.

“Anytime, Jon.” she sounds just as emotional as he does so they end the call quickly to avoid getting all mushy at each other.

Besides, Jon has an outfit to pick out for his date.

Did he mention he was going on a date?

With Daenerys Targaryen. 

The mystery of the day is: Where is Dany’s bed?

The answer is: Somewhere, probably, under the mammoth pile of discarded clothing she has already tried on and rejected for various, not necessarily sensical reasons.

Too casual.

Too formal.

Not casual enough.

Not formal enough.

Urgh. Why did humans invent clothes? Who decided that clothes had some secret meaning, and that finding that perfect sartorial place on that fine line was essential? A first date must.

Why can’t she just go naked?

She certainly wouldn’t mind if Jon showed up naked…

Whoa now, Dany. Reign it in. You’ll never make a decision if you let your thoughts wander down _that_ particular road.

She knows this from experience.

The summer nights are long, and warm right now, and she has just settled on a casual, but classy. Cute, but sexy thin strapped, creamy yellow summer dress that falls just above her knees when her phone rings.

She jumps and panics, automatically assuming that it is Jon calling to say that he made a huge mistake, he doesn’t really like her, that he actually thinks she is the grossest person ever, and that their date is cancelled.

One glance at the caller I.D. disproves this theory, but it still makes her anxious.

Tyrion Lannister.

She’d been waiting to hear from him, of course. But why did it have to be now? She was already freaking out enough as it was.

She answers the phone and puts him on speaker, tossing out a “Hi, Tyrion”, as she crawls under her bed looking for wayward shoes.

“Daenerys? Are you there?”

“I’m here,” she assures him, returning from her mission with three shoes. None of which match.

Fuck.

“Good. Good. And you haven’t had any contact with my father?”

“Not since I last saw you. It’s not like I seek him out for heart to hearts or anything.”

Tyrion chuckles.

“You and me both. Right, well, I’m just calling to tell you that I have everything I need in place, or, if it’s not in place now, then it very soon will be.”

Dany feels uneasy as she lines up pairs of potential shoes for her own inspection.

“What exactly is this ‘everything’ that you have ‘in place’, Tyrion?”

“Uh, uh, uh. The less you know about it, the better. Plausible deniability and all that.”

“Am I going to _need_ plausible deniability?” she shrieks at him, fully alarmed now.

“Not if everything goes according to plan. Uh, uh, and before you interrupt me, everything _is_ going to go according to plan. I just need to ask you one thing, everything hinges on that.”

Dany is shaking. Her career. Well, her secret career, all hinges on _one_ thing? That doesn’t sound good.

“What is it?” she asks warily, applying light makeup to her face.

“Would you be willing to have your final book published by another publishing company. A new, lesser known one?”

She sighs, “Tyrion, you know Tywin is never going to let me out of my contract to do that.”

“Those are me problems. Just answer my question.”

“Well… yes? I mean, yes of course I would. So long as they are above board – I’m not dealing with another asshole like your father – and so long as the book gets published the way I wrote it. With _my_ ending. _The_ ending. Then I don’t mind who publishes it. But I still don’t see how…”

“As I said, that’s a me problem.”

“What are you going to do?” she asks while brushing out her hair.

“I can’t tell you much, but to give you some peace of mind, let’s just say that some of my father’s business ventures, both in house, and extra-curricular, have not been exactly… what’s that word..? Oh yes, legal.”

“ _That’s_ your big revelation? Fuck, Tyrion _I_ could have told you that.”

“Yes, but you wouldn’t have had any proof. Proof is something I can get. But I’m going to need a distraction in order to do so.”

“This is sounding dodgier by the second.” She accuses while eyeing up the two contenders who made it through to the last round of Daenerys’ Choice of Shoe for the Evening.

He ignores her interjection.

“So, in order to get that proof I am going leak the fact that Lannister House is refusing to publish the final book. The fans will be outraged. This I will use to my advantage as my coup de grace. I’ve made an account on that online forum. Once the leak hits I’m going to rally people to protest outside the offices. While he’s distracted with all of that… that’s when I make my move to get us the proof we need.”

“That’s crazy, Tyrion. You’re not a secret spy.”

“I might be. You don’t know. Secret is built into the name of secret spy you know.”

“Don’t joke, please. Do you really think this is going to work?”

“I promise you. It will.”

She bites her lip and worries it between her teeth.

“I’m not so sure about this Tyrion. It’s all very cloak and dagger. Don’t you think that maybe...”

“Where’s your whimsy, Daenerys?” he says excitedly. “Your sense of adventure? You’re the fantasy writer, you should appreciate the nuance, and subtlety of my brilliance. The scheming, and intrigue. The..

“Is it too much to wear heels with a summer dress?” she interrupts him mid-monologue.

“What? What are you..?”

“It is, isn’t it?”

“I’m not sure what you…”

“But I’m so _short_ without them.”

She gives a little cry of frustration. “But I suppose he knows that already, so it doesn’t…”

“Doctor Targaryen,” Tyrion interrupts her sounding positively gleeful, “are you going on a _date_?”

“I’ll wear sandals. Nice ones. That should be fine, right? Men don’t even really notice that kind of thing, do they? I mean, what’s the point of my boobs if he’s going to be looking at my shoes? And…”

“Daenerys,” Tyrion shouts pulling her from her spiral. “Calm down. You’re a bright, charming, intelligent woman. Whoever it is that is lucky enough to have finally pulled you out of your self-imposed spinsterhood for the evening will be far more captivated by all of that. Not your shoes, and not your… your… well… you know…”

She can basically hear him blushing over the phone.

Poor Tyrion.

“Thank you.” She says softly, breathing deeply to calm herself down.

“I’m happy for you. You deserve this. And don’t thank me. Not for this. Just trust me. Go along with my plan, and thank me afterwards when everything turns out perfectly.”

“Tyrion…”

“Daenerys…”

“Fine,” she huffs. “I trust you. Do what you have to do.”

“I will, and don’t you worry about a thing. Just enjoy your date.”

“I’ll try. I…” she hears a knock at the door.

“ _He’s here_.” She whispers panickingly to Tyrion.

“So, go answer the door.” He encourages. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

She laughs brightly, “That leaves me a lot of wriggle room. I’ve got to go. Thanks, Tyrion.”

“Bye little love-bird.” She hears him sing at her as she hangs up the phone, throws on her sandals, grabs her light jacket and walks to the door shaking with a mixture of pure nerves and extreme excitement.

She’s finally going on a date with Jon.

Walking up the path to Daenerys’ front door, this time knowing he is on a date is a whole different experience.

He is _finally_ getting to pick her up. Just like he always wanted.

He went for a formal slash casual blend when picking his outfit. Fitted black jeans, stylish, well (very well, he’d done it three times) polished brown leather boots, and a light grey, cotton button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up for that casual air he was talking about.

He’s excited. That is evident in the grin that hasn’t left his face since she said yes yesterday. But he’s also nervous. He’s wanted this for so long. And he’s fucked things up with her so many times in the past.

But that was different, he pep talks himself. You didn’t know she liked you then. Now you do.

Confidence, Snow. Confidence is key.

With that in mind he takes the final few steps and knocks on her door.

Confidently.

The door swings open and there she is, smiling widely at him.

He can’t breath.

She looks so gorgeous that it has him thinking several things that make him feel like he needs to beat himself up in order to defend Daenerys’ honour or something.

“Hi, Jon. You look great. Thanks for picking me up.” She says still smiling that incredible smile at him.

“Daenerys, hi. You, you look absolutely beautiful.”

She blushes prettily, and he realises what an absolute dunce he has been for the longest time. She always blushed when he said anything even vaguely nice about her. It’s only now that he recognises that those were the only times he has ever seen her blush. It gives him a boost of confidence.

“Shall we go? I’m excited to see what all the fuss is about this festival.” he says, offering her his arm.

She doesn’t hesitate to take it this time.

Instead her smile widens, if at all possible.

“I am too. It was a wonderful idea to go there. Well worth shifting my schedule around for.”

She shifted her schedule for him? For their date?

She is such a sweetheart.

Is it too much to tell someone you love them on a first date?

Before the date even starts?

Probably.

He’ll hold off on that.

If he can.

They make their way to his car and he opens the door for her to get in before making his way round to the drivers side and hopping in himself.

He looks over to her, and smiles to see her sitting there looking back at him smiling too.

This, this is his dream come true.

They arrive at the park where the festival is located and he stops the car. 

Once again he get out and walks round to the passenger side and opens the door, extending a hand to help her out of the car.

She smiles at him indulgently as she steps out, and he lets go of her hand.

“You do know, I _am_ perfectly capable of getting out of a car on my own, don’t you?”

He considers prevaricating, but decides to go for honesty. It was honesty that got him this date.

“I know I just… Really I just wanted an excuse to hold your hand for a bit” he admits sheepishly.

She looks at him softly

“Jon, we’re on a date. I would be bitterly disappointed if you _didn’t_ try to hold my hand.”

She looks so beautiful, so sweet, so hopeful.

And he’s an idiot in the face of all that so he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. 

“Oh, well if I’d known that then I would have bought my handcuffs to keep you attached to me all evening.”

Her eyes widen and he curses himself and whatever deity it was that gave humans the ability to talk.

“Hmmmmm,” she hums very seriously. Oh god he’s fucked this up before it even had a chance to get off the ground. 

“Kinks are usually a second date kind of conversation for me, but since you’ve already bought it up,” her tongue darts out to wet her lips and she looks up at him. “How do you feel about chocolate body paint, and whipped cream and licking...”

His brain is buzzing, and her eyes are glinting at him impishly, and he has to put a stop to this before his imagination gets carried away. 

“You’re messing with me?” he says sounding much more confident than he feels.

Her smile turns positively wicked.

“Maybe,” she says with a dainty shrug of her shoulder. She leans in close to him, her lips brushing his ear as she whispers, “or maybe not.”

Then she steps back and her smile is soft and playful again, as he gapes at her.

“Come on, let’s go.” She exclaims cheerfully.

And she takes his hand in hers and holds it gently but firmly as they walk towards the stalls.

He’s starting to think he might be in serious trouble. And he couldn’t care less. 

“Okay,” he says, settled a little more now that she isn’t painting him a literally, and figuratively delicious picture of her sprawled out on his bed covered in nothing but…

No, bad brain. Bad.

Focus.

He clear his throat.

“Let’s get some wine first.”

“A man after my own heart,” she replies. “Red, or white?”

“Ladies choice.” He says with a little courtly bow which is probably _way_ over the top, but it makes her laugh so it was completely worth it.

“Red then.” She says without hesitation, wandering over to the wine stalls, her warm, soft hand still holding fast to his.

She chooses a bottle with expert precision.

He gives her a questioning look.

“I know my wine. I’ve made all my best, and all my worst decisions thanks to wine. Wine and I are well acquainted.”

He chuckles.

“I hope I get to hear about some of these bad decisions.”

She looks at him mock-appraisingly.

“Maybe one day… if you’re good.” She winks.

He’s a damn goner.

“Now. Food. What do you like?” he asks, pulling her round lightly by her hand so she is facing him.

“What do I like? We can do better than that.”

“How so?”

“I propose a challenge. There must be eighty or so food stalls here. Neither of us have ever been before. We have a lot to catch up on. I say we split up and each pick ten things. Five we know we like, and five we’ve never tried before. It will be an experience.”

She is brimming with almost childlike excitement. And that does sound like fun, as loathe as he is to let go of her hand for even a second, so he cannot help but agree.

“Alright. Let’s put a timer on it. Meet back here in twenty minutes with the goods and then we’ll find a spare picnic blanket to try out our feast.”

“You’re on,” she says grinning. “Three, two, one… GO”

And just like that she has let go of his hand and is darting about the stalls eyeing each of them as she goes.

He does the same.

Twenty minutes later. On the dot. They meet back, their arms laden with various boxes and containers.

“Well,” she chirps, clearly excited, “let’s go find somewhere to sit and examine our loot.”

They find the perfect blanket laid out right next to a large tree that they can lean their backs against while sitting comfortably side by side.

He pours them both a glass of wine, clinking his against hers as she smiles at him. Then, it is on to the food.

They each make a production of revealing their picks.

Some look familiar, some leave him feeling a little trepidatious. But Daenerys is like a pure form of energy. She’s making him feel adventurous. So he promises himself he will try all of them.

The issue of keeping his cool appears again when she reveals her last choice.

With great fanfare she unveils a decadent chocolate dessert topped with whipped cream which yanks his mind back solidly and immediately to what she had said by his car.

This is not helped _at_ all by the fact that she swipes her delicate finger through the cream and brings it up to her lips licking it off slowly, and purposefully while looking right at him.

He tries desperately to think of something gross and horrible to diffuse his reaction, but comes up blank at the sight of her pink tongue gliding deftly around her finger.

“You shouldn’t have dessert before dinner, you know.” He manages to croak out. More for something to say than anything else.

She blinks up at him innocently, her finger still resting provocatively at the corner of her mouth.

“Or what? You’ll punish me? You never did get around to telling me about all of your kinks.” She bites her finger between her teeth and smiles at him around it, raising a questioning eyebrow as though she really expects him to answer.

“What? What are you talking about? Kinks? What are kinks? I’ve never had any such conversation in my life. In fact, I’ve never had any conversations. Ever. These are my first words.”

She pulls her finger from her mouth with a faint popping sound and looks at him challengingly. “Are you sure about that?”

Oh god. _Her voice_. It’s so low and sultry, and does she have _any_ idea what she is doing to him?

“Who are you, and what have you done with the sweet Doctor Dany I asked out on date?” he exclaims.

She jerks away from him abruptly, and looks absolutely terrified for a moment, before her face slips into emotions more closely resembling embarrassment, and resignation.

“I… I’m sorry. I… ummm. I’m sorry for teasing you. Really. I know I’m not… well… at work I’m…” she sighs. “I’m really sorry. Maybe we should just go.” she says, already moving to stand up

Fuck.

Damnit.

He hadn’t meant to make her insecure. He is _loving_ this side of her. This dynamic. The very _last_ thing he wants is for her to stop. Even if it is causing him some problems with keeping his libido in check.

He has to salvage the situation.

“But Daenerys, if we go now you’ll never find out about the secret sex dungeon under my house, or my affinity for blindfolds, or… well… you’d have to be a very _very_ good girl to get to find out about the rest.” He says lowering his voice to, what he hopes is, a sexy growl.

She blinks at him owlishly once, twice, thrice.

He’s holding his breath, hoping like hell that worked. Of course he doesn’t have a secret sex dungeon. But the rest of it does actually sound mighty appealing if he were experiencing it with her.

Finally, _finally_ she laughs. It’s not as bright as it was at the beginning of the evening, but he can see she is starting to feel comfortable again.

“Well,” she says, “I certainly wouldn’t want to miss out on that.”

Fuck he hopes she means that.

Things go back to normal as they start to make their way through the different food stuffs, both known and unknown.

“Why did you choose pediatric surgery?” he asks her, genuinely interested in the answer.

She squirms a little. “Would you believe me if I said it was because I love kids?” she asks, looking at him hopefully.

He laughs.

“Maybe. Maybe if I’d just seen you around the hospital, or with your patients. But I’ve seen you in the O.R. It’s not that.”

“You’re right. It’s not. You got me. I’ll tell you, but don’t judge me, okay?”

He nods solemnly.

“I promise, on my life, my lady”

“Nerd.” She fires back bumping him lightly with her shoulder.

“Okay, so really the reason is, is that I’m greedy.”

“Greedy?”

“Greedy” she confirms. “When I was in my residency everyone was picking their specialties, and I couldn’t pick just one. I wanted to know everything. Do everything. I wanted it all. The heart. The liver. The brain. The bones. And, well, pediatrics lets you have all of that. And it’s on tinier patients which means you have to work harder to hone your skills to their finest.”

She’s looking down, fiddling with her fingers. Which are, indeed highly skilled at operating. He wonders what else they are highly skilled at…

Not now, Jon. He scolds himself.

“So, you like a challenge?”

“I suppose that’s one way of putting it. I suppose I must considering I spent so much time trying to get _your_ attention even though I thought you were this mythical, unobtainable, way out of my league, surgery-god.”

She’s blushing again. He can tell she hadn’t mean to say that last part.

He wants to know more but she starts talking again abruptly, in a very transparent attempt to change the subject, so he files that away to think of later.

“Why did you pick trauma surgery?”

“When I was just a medic in the army I would see guys bought in. Guys that should have been goners. Injuries like you wouldn’t believe. But the Trauma surgeons there. It was like they were miracle workers. The things they could do. They were literally pulling people back from the very brink of death. Young people, people who had their whole lives ahead of them, and would get to live them now thanks to those surgeons. The vast majority of traumas are younger people, often people with families, who just had unfortunate accidents. And those accidents should have been the end of them. But sometimes they’re not – and they get to go on and live the rest of their lives, their families don’t have to be torn apart, because of Trauma surgeons. I wanted to be able to do that.” He shrugs amazed at how comfortable he felt telling her all of that. He’s usually not much of a sharer.

She’s staring at him reverently, and she brushes her hand down his arm lightly.

But then she feigns a scowl.

“That’s so unfair. Yours is so much more noble. I’m changing mine. I picked pediatrics because I love kids. Love them. They are the world. They are our hope. They are our future. Anything to protect them. Precious children.”

He’s laughing so hard, this wonderful, perfect person is even more amazing than he had originally thought. And that is saying a lot considering he already thought the world of her.

“Sorry, no take backs. You’re greedy, and I’m a selfless, humble hero.”

“Humble my ass” she grumbles.

“I really do love kids though.” She says as though she needs to convince him. As though that was ever in question. He’s seen her with her patients.

“I know.” He reassures her.

“Do you like kids?” she asks him.

Her eyes widen as he sees on her face the exact moment that she realises how her question might be interpreted.

“I just mean… because… I mean…”

He feigns a gasp, putting one hand to his chest, and the other to his cheek. “Why, Daenerys Targaryen, what a leading question. Is this that peer-pressure I hear people talking about? I’m positively scandalized. My poor, fragile sensibilities. To ask such a thing of me on a first date?” he says dramatically in a terrible attempt at a Southern Belle accent.

“First and _only_ date if you keep that up,” she replies huffily. Though he can see she is trying desperately to hold back her laughter.

Then, suddenly, her eyes narrow mischievously at him. Before he can blink, she swings one leg over his so that she is straddling his lap, and then she is kissing him fiercely, hungrily. Pushing her entire body flush against his, winding her hands into his hair, and, is she… is she circling her hips very, very subtly?

Fuck.

Then, just as suddenly, she’s off his lap and sitting primly and properly back in her own spot.

Him gaping at her, and her smiling innocently at him as though nothing had ever happened.

Which he knows is not the case. All his bodily evidence would suggest otherwise.

“What,” he chokes out, then clears his throat and licks his lips – they taste divine, they taste like her – trying to regain his bearings. “What was that for?”

Her smile remains as pure as the driven snow as she says “Oh, just a little reminder of what you would be missing if this was our first and only date. Call it an incentive to be on your best behaviour.” Her hands are daintily smoothening the skirt of her dress, and he has no idea how she is maintaining her composure when he is absolutely, definitely about to combust.

“I see. The thing is though, Daenerys, I was always a slow leaner,” he pouts.

“Oh?” she replies cocking her head to the side with a look of faux sympathy on her face.

“Aye. Yep. Yes. Very slow,” he says nodding. “Dreadfully slow. I always need multiple reminders.”

“Multiple?” She asks, raising a brow at him.

“Multiple” He concurs in a feigned chagrined tone.

“Well,” she begins leaning closer to him.

He’s very pleased with this chain of events.

“If that’s the case,” she’s even closer.

He’s holding his breath, and wetting his lips in anticipation.

She brings her forefinger up in front of his nose, “Follow my finger.” She instructs, moving it slowly to the left, all business all of sudden.

“What?” he exclaims, outraged, batting it away gently.

“I’m worried about you. Needing so many reminders. I was just doing some basic neurological testing.” She’s giggling to herself, probably at the disappointed, and affronted look he knows is all over his face.

“Fine,” he huffs, willing to concede. For now.

He tries to remember where they left off.

“But yeah, I do like kids. It’s kind of necessary when you’re one of the oldest of six”

“Six!?” she exclaims.

“Aye. And it’s every bit as chaotic and tumultuous as it sounds.”

“And you’re the oldest?”

“Not quite. And also, not at all really.”

She’s looking at him questioningly. He cannot believe how much he wants to open up to her. He never talks to anyone about this stuff. Especially not on a first date.

“My father died before I was born, and my mother died in labour with me. Preeclampsia.”

She nods, understandingly and solemnly, listening oh so attentively.

“So I was raised by my uncle and his wife, alongside their five kids. They’re my cousins, but I call them my siblings. Robb is the oldest, but only a few months older than me. So that was great, I had a built in friend growing up. Then there’s Sansa, she’s nice enough but we never quite saw eye to eye. Then Arya, she’s my favourite, and absolutely my best friend in the entire world.”

He can see her smiling widely at that. He knows he always gets a happy look on his face when he talks about Arya.

“Then there’s Bran, and Rickon. And that’s us. The five Starks, and one Snow.”

“It sounds lovely. And messy. But lovely.”

She’s so genuine. So kind.

“What about you?”

She twists her lips a little. “Kind of a similar story actually. My father died before I was born as well, and my mother died giving birth to me. Postpartum haemorrhage. I was raised by my Great Uncle Aemon. He was a doctor too. An amazing one. I had two older brothers, one of them died before I was born as well, and Viserys died when I was a teenager. He was quite a bit older than me too.”

“I’m sorry.” It’s all he can think to say.

She just smiles at him and shrugs, “Thank you, but it’s not necessary. It was a long time ago. And I’m sorry, for you, too.”

“It was a long time ago” he echoes, smiling at her gently.

It has gotten darker, and the torches that surround the spread out picnic blankets have been lit.

“I think the fireworks are about to start,” he says to her shuffling a little to get comfortable to watch them.

“I think they are too,” she replies. And then she does the most wonderful thing in the world. She snuggles close into his side, wrapping an arm around his waist and leaning her head on his shoulder.

He moves his arm so that it is similarly wrapped securely around her back and they both settle in to watch the skies light up like magic.

Jon walks her to her door at the end of the night. There’s no way he’s going to mess it up this time.

“Sooooooooo……” he says still clinging tightly to her hand. “I believe we spoke briefly about a potential second date?”

She grins up at him cheekily. “I believe that was only if you were on your best behaviour.”

He’s not having any of that.

He lets go of her hand and reaches round to cup the back of her head, tilting it up before leaning down and taking her lips in a deep kiss filled with all the desire, admiration and affection he has been feeling for her all night long.

She moans a little and he can’t stop himself from using his body to press hers up against her still closed door, still claiming her lips like they belong to him.

Then, he pulls back abruptly.

She gives a little whine of protest, trying to pull him back by his shirt.

He smirks at her, “Just a little reminder of what you would be missing if this was our first and only date.” he teases throwing her words back at her.

She laughs loudly and freely.

“Well, how can I argue with that. Lunch tomorrow?”

“It’s a date.” he replies with the widest grin his face has ever seen.

He wakes up the next day with the same wide smile on his face.

Last night had been incredible. Better than incredible.

He’d always known Doctor Dany was special. But last night, last night, wow, she was something else. She was fun, and kind, and silly, and smart.

And now he’s even more in love with her than ever.

He hears his phone ring and sees that it is Arya calling.

Probably to scope out how his date went.

“Hel…”

“Did you see the news?”

Well, apparently her use of preamble was a one time only offer. And apparently she is _not_ calling about his date.

“News? No. What news?”

“About the last book. Fucking hell, this Doctor Dany must be something really special if she has you missing important Game of Thrones news.”

“She is. She really is. Arya, you wouldn’t believe how great last night was, honestly I…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll listen to your sonnets later. Check the news.”

He grumbles but does as he’s told. He may be pretty much completely in love with Daenerys, but he does love Game of Thrones too.

He sees what Arya is talking about immediately.

** Series Stalled: Lannister House presses pause on the Game of Thrones. **

_A verified inside source, who works in the upper management levels of Lannister House Publishing, has confided exclusively to The Kings Landing Times that despite the long awaited fifth, and final book of the immensely popular A Song of Ice and Fire series – on which the television show Game of Thrones was based – being finished, and ready for publication, CEO and Chief Editor Tywin Lannister is refusing to print the book and release it for sale. The source, who we cannot name for their own protection, says that by not publishing, Mr Tywin Lannister is overtly breeching the contract he has with D.S. Targ, the author of the series. Our source says they have no idea when this matter will be settled, but ominously stated that these things can take years. Bad news surely for the millions of fans all over the world who have been waiting for the final installment for two years now._

“Fuck,” he says to Arya once he’s finished reading. “Do you think that’s true? We’re never going to get the bloody book are we?”

“Go to the forum.” Is all Arya says snappishly in reply.

He does so and he sees a post by a user named Soleon49 who is apparently organizing a protest against Lannister House, demanding that they uphold their contract and release the book. Over 300 people have already indicated that they will be attending the event which is in a few days time.

“You _have_ to go to the protest, Jon.”

“What? Arya, no. I’ve got a million things to do. I have a job, and a girlfriend.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself buddy. She’s not your girlfriend yet. You went on one date with her.”

“And I’m going on another today.” He defends his fledgling relationship.

“Focus up, Jon. This is important. You might even see D.S. Targ there. Imagine that. Then I would finally get the $100 you owe me, because they are totally a woman.”

He scoffs at her attempts to bargain with him.

“Come on, Jon. This is our book. We’ve been waiting for two years. Please, please, _please_ go. You know I would if I was there, but I can’t. So you have to. Please. For me? For us? For Calli and Tom? _Please_?”

Damnit. He never could refuse Arya anything. Especially when she said please (which was rarely). And he does want that book, even if it means going to a protest.

“Urgh, fine. I’ll go. But I’m not bloody dressing up.” He’d seen on the post that many people had said that they would be.

“Why did you spend all that money on that Tom Eis costume if you’re never going to wear it?” she asks, sounding mighty antagonistic for someone who had only _just_ gotten their own way.

“How did you know… that’s… because… it’s a collectable, alright?” His ears are burning with embarrassment.

“Whatever. Fine. But promise me you’ll go.”

“I just said I would.”

“Say it like a promise.”

He sighs, this had always been their thing. If they said it out loud as a promise they could never take it back.

“I promise you I will go to the protest.”

“Yay! Thank you. Best brother ever. Anyway, got to go. Bye”

And she hangs up on him.

Brat.

He wonders if Queen_Calli has heard about it.

He messages her.

**EisSnow:** Hey, you heard about the book? That would be our luck right. D.S. Targ _finally_ finishes the thing and now the publishing company is holding it up. I wonder why. Though I could hazard a few guesses and their names are Petyr and Varys. And did you hear about the protest? My sister really wants to go, but she can’t. She thinks if she could she might catch a glimpse of D.S. Targ and she wants to collect her $100. Though I doubt they’d be there.

He doesn’t tell her he is going. Their friendship is just like that. They don’t ask personal questions and it works out just fine for them. Even though he really does want to brag to her that he had finally gotten the girl since she had teased him so mercilessly about his crush.

**Queen_Calli:** Yeah, I heard. But before you even ask… NO, I am NOT going to speculate with you about how or why any of this is happening :)

He laughs. She’s nothing if not consistent.

**EisSnow:** Oh, come ON. This is a legit conspiracy. You’ve got to want to speculate about that. Live on the wild side. Go on. You can do it…

**Queen_Calli:** Don’t try to cyber-pressure me into doing things you know I’m not going to do. Go conspire with the other flat-earthers…

**EisSnow:** Mean :)

It is the day before she is supposed to be getting back to Tywin, and also the day of Tyrion’s insane organised protest. She should be feeling more nervous, more concerned. But somehow, she is not.

And that has everything to do with Jon.

Currently they are walking through hospital together hand in hand, and she just feels calm in his presence.

They’d spoken on the phone every night since their first date, and the conversation just flows between them.

They had also been on two more dates since then.

Not big things, just casual. She likes it that way. It’s new and exciting but somehow also comfortable – remarkable really since this time last week she would get tongue tied at the mere sight of him.

Suddenly, out of nowhere Doctor Greyjoy, the orthopedic surgeon, appears rolling up the sleeve of her lab coat, flashes her watch at them and yells out, “Thanks for the Rolex, Doctor Snow.”

What the hell? Had Jon bought Yara a watch?

No. That doesn’t seem right. She’d looked far too gleeful. Like she was gloating to the public, not really telling them.

She tugs on Jon’s hand and looks up at him.

“Do I want to know?”

“Probably not.” He says shaking his head ruefully.

They’re nearly at the Doctor’s Lounge when Doctor Seaworth comes up to them.

“Oh, my boy. I had faith in you two kids. Too much faith. I was really rooting for you. You couldn’t have done this three months ago? I really wanted that fishing boat I had my eye on. Oh well,” he pats Jon on the shoulder, “I’m happy for the pair of you anyway.”

Now she is more than a little confused.

She tugs on Jon’s hand again.

“Okay, now I do really want to know.”

“You really don’t.”

“Please, Jon?” she sing-songs looking up at him wide eyed and pouting, swinging their joined hands back and forth.

“You shouldn’t be allowed to be this damn cute,” he grumbles playfully, ducking his head to kiss her sweetly on the cheek.

“Fine,” he huffs as they enter the Doctor’s Lounge. He pulls her down onto the couch with him and she snuggles immediately into his side as he wraps his arm around her tightly.

He explains all about the Staff-wide pool that had been going on, for what turns out to be well over a year, about when the two of them would finally get together.

She’s giggling like crazy at the end of it.

“Oh, those poor people. I can’t believe we did that to them.”

“Fuck them,” he replies squeezing her tighter, “all that matters is us.”

She feels incredibly warm, and happy, and safe.

She is so dangerously in love with this man. But it is far, far too soon to tell him.

Isn’t it?

Yes, yes it is.

Calm down Dany, it’s only been three dates.

But she wants to make it four.

So she asks Jon if he wants to come over to her house for dinner tonight.

As much as she loves their casual dates, she wants to spend time with him in a more intimate setting – plus it would be an excellent distraction from the whole ‘protest’ debacle, which she knows is going to be driving her crazy with worry tonight.

But sadly, it is not to be.

He apologises profusely but says he can’t. That he’d already promised Arya that he would do something for her tonight.

She knows how much he adores his little sister, so she can’t be upset. Instead she just slides onto his lap to cuddle closer to him, enjoying this time they do have.

It’s probably for the best anyway. She’ll be too much of a wreck wondering about the protest. She’ll just have to message EisSnow instead. They’ll be following it for sure.

The protest is, for want of a better word, insane.

Far more than the estimated 300 people had shown up.

And they had shown up in style.

Despite Arya’s fervent pleas, he had _not_ worn his Tom Eis costume. Because, as he said, it was a collectible, damnit. He wanted to keep it in mint condition.

But he was just about the only person who had not dressed up for the occasion.

He could spot someone dressed as just about every character from the books. Naturally, there were many more of the more popular characters.

He is also suddenly very happy for his medical training, for there were far too many swords being brandished around for his liking.

A lot of them looked alarmingly authentic.

And this crowd was feral.

They were chanting and screaming outside the offices of Lannister House Publishing.

As he made his way through, he saw signs and placards.

Fuck.

Tywin Lannister better have damn good security, and sleep with one eye open. These people meant business.

One large banner held aloft by two people had an image of Tywin’s face, flames approaching it shooting straight from Drogon’s mouth. The words ‘ _Dracarys, Tywin_ ’ written across the bottom.

Another sign simply said, ‘ _I’ll Battle THAT Bastard_ ’.

Another read ‘ _If you DON’T publish the Game of Thrones you die, or you die. There is no middle ground.’_

Yet another was printed up like a massive invitation stating that _Tywin Lannister is cordially invited to attend a wedding. The theme is RED._

Yep. These people meant business.

Wandering around, joining in the occasional chant of “1, 2, 3, 4, we’re not waiting any more. 5, 6, 7, 8, Tywin is the man we hate”, Jon spots Edd, a fellow army Vet and someone he and Ghost work with at the Veteran’s Hospital. He’s dressed in a very convincing Jordan costume.

“Hey, Edd,” he shouts to be heard over the crowd. “Nice outfit.”

“Jon,” Edd exclaims, “I’m not surprised to see you here. Why didn’t you bring Ghost though? You named him after Tom’s direwolf after all. And, speaking of, why aren’t you dressed up as Tom? The pair of you would have fitted in great here.” he laughs.

Jon laughs back, “Urgh, not too sure yet whether I want to fit in with this madness. Your costume is great though.”

Edd shrugs, “Eh, I don’t even like the Rolfes, but I figured, since I already had half the costume…” he indicates his wheelchair which he has been in for the past couple of months while he recovers from a nasty spinal injury.

“Well, it’s working for you. How are you doing?”

“Yeah, I’m doing alright, mate. I’d be doing even better if this cunt would release the book so that I’d have something decent to read in between waiting for you to come torture me during P.T.”

“Ha, I’m not that bad. You’ll be up and out of that thing in no time.”

“Yeah we’ll see,” he looks up suddenly and Jon can see someone waving to get Edd’s attention. “Fuck, gotta go, man. All of us Jordans are gonna line up and monotonously predict grim, dismal, ominous things for Tywin’s future if he doesn’t release the book immediately.”

Jon laughs heartily at that.

“Alright, have fun. Throw in something truly menacing for me.”

“Will do,” Edd shouts over his shoulder in reply as he wheels off.

Jon wanders around a bit more, but doesn’t see anyone else he knows.

He stays for three hours, and in that time the number of protesters only increases. This thing isn’t slowing down any time soon.

But he is.

He wants to get home and call Daenerys. She’d seemed a little stressed when he’d said goodbye to her this afternoon, and he wants to do all he can to soothe that away from her.

Dany is at home. Yes, sipping on some wine – so sue her - and watching the absolute fiasco that is the protest on the seven o’clock news. She can’t believe it’s on there. She can’t believe how many people went. This is just more evidence that she needs to get the book published _the right way_ as soon as possible.

She doesn’t want to disappoint her fans.

She does a double take.

Was that? Was that? She could swear that she just saw Jon in the protest crowd. The person had his body, his posture. And she knows his posture, and his body pretty well by now, given the years of constant ogling, and the glorious past week of snuggling up close to it. But she couldn’t be sure. All of the protesters faces were blurred, and of course, of course it wasn’t him. She was just being silly. She just misses him, and wishes he was here, and so she’s seeing him in places he is not.

Plus, she might also be a little tipsy. But who cares.

She’s been on the online forum.

There seems to be two general consensuses about _why_ the book is being held back from release, with unlikely corners of the fandom banding together under their chosen umbrella, but absolutely tearing one another apart while doing so.

Those who _loved_ the show ending, and those who _hated_ the show ending are convinced that the book is being held back because its ending differs entirely from the show. Though, of course, they have very different opinions about _why_ that would be.

Then there are those who _loved_ the show ending, and those who _hated_ the show ending who are convinced that the book is being held back because it ends _exactly_ the same as the show. Though, of course, they have very different opinions about _why_ that would be.

Mostly it’s all conspiracy and nonsense. Except for the ones that have hit the nail right on the head.

Then, of course, there are the book people who have never watched the show and just want the last book. They seem fairly fucked off that it could be show politics that is keeping that from happening.

She decides to message EisSnow.

**Queen_Calli:** Fuck, are you seeing this on the news? It’s crazy out there.

As she’s waiting for a reply Tyrion calls.

She’s holding her breath as she answers the phone.

“Well?” she says in lieu of hello. She’s too nervous for anything else.

“I’ve got everything we need.” He sounds positively smug, and so, so pleased with himself. “The less you know about it the better. All you have to do is show up for your meeting with my father at Lannister House tomorrow as planned. Soleon49 out.” Then he hangs up the phone.

Tyrion is really into this secret spy shit.

And holy fucking shit... things are really going to happen tomorrow…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to ReganX for the great idea of a fan riot / protest. It wasn't part of my original plan, but they made it sound like so much fun that I couldn't resist adding it in. So, thanks, ReganX.
> 
> Banner made by the wonderful turner-cris on tumblr


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is for BriseisRose - because they DO get to choose. Also, because ao3 was mean to them proclaiming false updates. Sorry it's a couple of days late, BriseisRose - some things came up... and this chapter has a bit of (necessary, but I hope you don't find it boring) exposition. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope it can give you a little bit of lightheartedness when you need it.
> 
> And thank you, as always, to the wonderful people who take the time to comment when they read. You all make my day in a very real way xx

Jon pushes his front door open and stumbles inside.

That was madness. Absolute chaotic madness.

He cannot believe how many people showed up to that protest.

Well… he can.

A Song of Ice and Fire means a lot to a lot of people.

Himself included.

And the idea, the very thought that they may never get the _real_ ending, whatever it may be, just because Tywin Lannister is a cunt is incredibly infuriating.

All in all, he’s glad he went, but now all he wants to do is check up on his girlfriend.

He pours himself a glass of wine – it’s the same kind Daenerys had picked out on their first date.

He’d bought a crate of it.

He really liked it okay?

He’s not even sure whether it’s because it tastes nice.

Which it does.

Whether it’s because Daenerys had been the one to pick it, so it makes him think of her.

Which it does.

Or whether it’s because he knows she likes it, so he’ll have something to offer her when she comes over to his place one day.

Which she will.

Hopefully soon.

He falls back onto the couch with a sigh and Ghost immediately jumps up next to him laying his head in his lap.

Unfortunately, this impedes his access to his pocket. Which contains his phone. Which he needs to call Daenerys on.

He gives Ghost a slight nudge, and the poor dog whines and gives him a very affronted look.

Jon ruffles his fur.

“Sorry boy, just had to grab this.” He says, snaking his hand into his pocket, pulling his phone out, and holding it aloft to show it to Ghost.

Ghost merely huffs and lays his head back down.

“Don’t be mad at me. I’m going to call Doctor Dany. You remember me telling you about Doctor Dany, don’t you boy? Yes, of course you do, because you’re the smartest, goodest boy ever. Yes you are.”

Ghost is becoming mollified by all the pats and praise he is receiving.

“I can’t wait for you to meet her. You’ll love her. I promise. It’s impossible not to. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a mumma, Ghosty-whosty?

Shit.

Okay.

He’s fallen in to baby talk.

And planning the co-parenting of his dog _with_ his dog.

Just how strong is this wine?

He shrugs the question off and calls Daenerys.

Her phone rings, and rings, and rings before going to voicemail.

He has no plans to leave a message, but he listens to the whole thing anyway just to hear her sweet voice, hanging up just before the beep.

Huh, she must be busy. He’ll try again soon.

Only one thing to do while he waits.

He logs on to the online forum and sees a massive amount of content about the stalling of the final book.

If he thought the people at the protest were out for blood, they had nothing compared to what some of the people of the forum were saying.

Surprisingly… or not surprisingly at all really given this fandom and how it works, people are absolutely tearing one another apart.

This is, unfortunately, normal, so he scrolls past it all. But then he sees a cluster of posts and comments that really fuck him off.

A very vicious, vocal minority are absolutely raging against D.S. Targ.

Their claims vary, but all have the same vitriolic, entitled tone:

They haven’t even finished the book, they probably never will, and so they leaked the story themselves about Lannister House to buy themselves some time.

They are doing this whole thing as a publicity stunt to boost sales which they know will be down for the last book since everyone already knows how it ends anyway.

They are being manipulative and greedy – refusing to let their book be published as an excuse to extort more money out of Lannister House.

They know their ending is crap compared to the show and now they are afraid to publish and are using Lannister House as their scapegoat.

Jon is furious.

D.S. Targ is the _reason_ they all have this thing to talk about in the first place.

D.S. Targ _gave_ them A Song of Ice and Fire. He seriously doubts they would be purposefully, let alone maliciously, keeping it away from its audience.

He doesn’t know why he’s so confident about this. He knows nothing about D.S. Targ – just like everyone else. But he _does_ remember how kind they had been when they had responded to one of his posts. Not to mention how thoughtful they were to apologise to him personally after the fandom went feral on him.

No, he doesn’t think D.S. Targ is the kind of person that would pull a publicity stunt like this. They wouldn’t hold their book hostage from its fans for their own gain.

If they were in it for personal gains they would have actually been active in the promotion of the books.

People would have paid good money to meet them and have their book signed.

This is the work of Lannister House.

He knows it.

He just, he just knows it.

Filled with righteous indignation he writes his own post outlining these points, detailing his experience at the protest, and calling on people to support D.S. Targ like they deserve at this time, instead of turning against them, because that is clearly what Lannister House wants.

He publishes his post and checks the time.

Huh, he must have been really, really angry, and that must have fuelled him.

It was a reasonably lengthy post, yet it had only taken him just over fifteen minutes to write.

Fifteen minutes…

That feels like a decent amount of time to wait before calling Daenerys again without seeming like he was obsessed with her or anything.

So, he calls her again. But once again, it rings through to voicemail.

Fuck.

He hopes she’s not angry at him that he hadn’t accepted her invitation to dinner tonight.

She hadn’t seemed angry when he told her. She’d just crawled onto his lap all warm, and soft, and huggable, kissed him softly and told him with a sweet smile that she completely understood.

No. He’s just overthinking it.

She’s just busy.

Besides, he knows Daenerys well enough by now to know that if she _was_ angry with him, he wouldn’t have to guess at it. He’d _know_ it. Just one of the many things he adores about her. She doesn’t play games.

Well, he’ll have to wait at least another fifteen minutes before he tries her again.

He may _be_ desperate, but she doesn’t have to _know_ that.

So he decides to call Arya to tell her about the protest she’d been so hell bent on him attending. She’s probably waiting for him to do so.

Her phone barely finishes its first ring.

“I saw you on the news” she exclaims excitedly.

That. Is. It.

Is there a finishing school that specialises in telephone decorum he can send his little sister to? He’s getting pretty damn sick and tired of this lack of preamble. It’s downright…

Wait.

Fuck.

She saw him on the news?

At the protest?

The protest for the last book in a fantasy novel series?

Shit.

What if Daenerys had seen him on the news and that’s why she’s dodging his calls? She signed up to date a trauma surgeon, not a completely obsessive fandom dork.

“You…” he clears his throat, which feels far, far too tight. “You did?”

“Yeah,” Arya shouts excitedly. “It was awesome. The protest looked intense as hell. But I told you you should have dressed up. Everyone else dressed up, and they looked so cool, and…”

“Oh flipping, fucking hell,” he bemoans. “You really saw me? How long was I on screen for? Would you be willing to go along, potentially for the rest of my life, with the story that I have an identical, but very nerdy twin brother?”

“What?”

“We can call him Ron.”

“Huh?”

“Yes, we shall call him Ron. Ron shall be his name. And Ron is a classic fantasy nerd who, for his own reasons, that have nothing to do with me, or my personality mind you, is never, ever seen in the same room as me. And…”

“ _Two_ Jons?!? Hell to the no. The thought alone gives me hives. There is no way I could deal with two of you, even if one was imaginary. What is this all about?” She asks sternly.

“Daenerys,” he whines. “I’ve tried to call her twice since I got home, and she hasn’t answered either call. What if _she_ saw me on the news and…”

“You’re worried you’re gonna lose coolness points or something?” Arya interrupts him with a chortle.

“Brother,” she scoffs, “you never _had_ any coolness points to lose. Trust me. I would know. I’ve been keeping detailed track of your coolness points my entire life. And even if I gave you the benefit of the doubt and assumed you were at maximum coolness points when I was born – which I am certain you were _not_ , I’ve seen the haircut you had in my baby pictures – you would still be well, well into the negative r.e., coolness points by now.”

Jon will not be diverted from his runaway thoughts.

“You _know_ she hates Game of Thrones. What if she…”

“You know,” Arya says snippily, “I am dreadfully offended that you called Doctor Dany _twice_ before you even bothered to call me considering _I_ was the one who asked you to go to the protest.”

‘Asked’ is a bit of a misnomer for the strong-arming she did. But there is no time to get in to that debate right now.

Important things are at stake.

“Aryaaaaaaaaaa, _please_ , just tell me how long I was on the news for.” he begs.

He is not above begging.

No, sir.

Not when it comes to the extraction of information pertinent to his relationship with the person he genuinely sees himself spending the rest of his life with. 

“Jesus wept. Unruffle your feathers, Romeo. It was just a glimpse of you. Barely even a glimpse. And your face was blurred out. I could only tell it was you because I was specifically looking for you, and I know you so well. Honestly, I’m not really even one hundred percent certain it _was_ you. I just told you that because I thought you would think it was cool, and the person did look a bit like you. Okay?”

He sighs out a massive breath of relief.

“Thank fuck.”

“Bloody hell. This Doctor Dany better be bringing something amazing to the table if she’s going to be getting in the way of our Game of Thrones conversations like this.” Arya snipes. But he can tell she is really only teasing… Maybe…

“You mean besides making your favourite brother the happiest man on earth?”

“Yes. That’s not enough. She needs something more. Something special. A little Je ne sais quoi. A little X factor. I’ll know whether she’s got it or not when I see her.” she sniffs. 

“It’s not like I’m going to hide it from her forever.” He defends himself. “I’ll tell her about my obsession eventually. I just need something super awesome to balance the scales so she doesn’t assume I’m some creepy dork.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?” Arya asks sceptically.

“Like, I dunno. I’ll become proficient in MMA or something. That will show her how cool, and manly I can be.”

Arya cackles her mean little head off at that.

Brat.

Such a brat.

Super brat.

“We’ve already established you are not, nor have you ever been, cool. She seems fine with that. I’m not even going near ‘manly’ because you’re my brother and that’s weird – though if you think the fact that you were literally _in the army_ isn’t manly enough then I don’t know how to help you. Besides, MMA is intense. It would take you forever to learn it. You’re going to hide everything from her for that long?”

“That’s fine. I’ve got the time. I have absolutely no intention of letting Daenerys go any time soon.” he says with complete certainty. Truthfully, if he gets his way, he has no intention of letting go of her ever.

“You’re one smitten kitten.” Arya teases.

“That’s hardly breaking news.” he deadpans. 

“But still, assuming you are serious about your insane plan – which I sincerely hope you are not - how are you going to hide _everything_ from her for that long?”

“It can’t be that hard,” he defends.

“Your dog that you named after Tom’s direwolf?”

“I can say he was already named when I got him.”

“That map of Planetos you have framed where you devise your own conquering strategies in whiteboard marker?”

“I… it…”

“Your House Alintaaviva bed sheets?”

“It’s summer right now so I’m not using them. They…”

“Yeah, yeah I know. They’re flannel sheets, and they make you feel safe, and warm, and toasty like you imagine Calli did when she was birthing her dragons. You’ve said all this before.”

Hmmmph. Whatever. They do. They _are_ safe, and warm, and toasty.

He just grunts at her.

“And what about your Tom and Calli Funkos that you put in compromising positions for your own sick and twisted amusement?”

Oh. So _that’s_ how she’s going to play this?

“I did that _one_ time for _your_ sick and twisted amusement to make you laugh after you had that big fight with Sansa.”

“And yet, I still have the entire 30 picture photoshoot saved, along with your captions.” she crows triumphantly. “The hand painted backgrounds were such a nice touch. I wonder what Doctor Dany would make of that?”

“You wouldn’t dare…”

“You have no idea what I would or would not dare.”

“Arya…” he begins in a stern tone. His phone beeps and he looks down to see that Daenerys is calling him back.

“Arya,” tone completely different and placatory now. “Daenerys is calling me. I’ve got to go. You know I love you, and I know you would never do anything to ruin this for me. I’ll talk to you soon. Bye.”

“Bye, Funko-voyeur,” he hears her mock as he switches over the call to Daenerys.

“Hello there, beautiful,” he answers, happy to be talking to her finally.

“Hello yourself, handsome” she replies, and he can hear that she is smiling. “I’m sorry I missed your calls.”

“That’s alright. No worries. I was just at home. Being my cool, calm, collected, casual self, and wondering how you were doing. You seemed a little stressed when we said goodbye this afternoon. I just wanted to check to see if you were okay.”

She hums lightly.

“You’re a darling. I was a little stressed, actually. You’re very perceptive.”

“Well I do like to think I can sense how you’re feeling pretty well by now. I mean, I have been watching you closely for the past two years….”

Okay.

Fuck.

That did not come out right.

“I mean… what I meant to say was…”

Lucky for him he doesn’t have to come up with something that he meant to say because she bursts out laughing, and the sound is a soothing balm to his frayed nerves, and racing heart.

“I know what you meant, Jon. And if you think you were the only one doing a whole lot of ogling since the day we met then you definitely are not smart enough to be a surgeon.”

Is the room getting smaller, or is his ego just getting a bit too big for it?

“Ah, yes, I do seem to recall you saying something on our first date about your years and years of pining after my sexy, mysterious, god-like self.” he preens.

“That’s an excellent memory you have there.”

“It certainly is.”

“I suppose that means you also recall harassing the poor nurses for my name and schedule on the day we met?

“I…”

“Then showing up the next day _pretending_ not to know my name, while also _pretending_ it was a complete coincidence that you _just so happened_ to be there at the same time as me?” she asks, sounding highly amused.

“I…”

“And, of course, a superlative memory such as yours couldn’t possibly forget wrangling information, again, out of the poor nurses, about whether I was single or not, the very day before you asked me out, could it?” she’s giggling a little now, so, despite the fact that he should feel embarrassed, all he is is further endeared by her.

“Irri” he grumbles menacingly.

“Is a gossip,” she states matter of factly. “And you should know that since you spent so much time extracting gossip out of her yourself. She told me everything just before our first date.” her giggling has intensified.

“She said she just wanted me to be aware that while you _claimed_ you didn’t own a van, there was still a very good chance that you might be a stalker, and that I would be wise to wait exactly four months before accepting your invitation to go out with you. She also mentioned something about you owing her a jet-ski. In light of recent revelations, I assume that all had something to do with the staff-wide betting pool?”

“Aye, that would be the right of it.” he murmurs sulkily. 

“Don’t pout,” she chides him gently. “Not when I’m not there to kiss it better.”

That has his frown turning upside down in an instant.

“But that’s not fair. I never have a reason to pout when I’m around you, so I’ll never get my kiss better.”

“I don’t need an excuse to kiss you, Doctor Snow.” her voice is teasing, and delicious.

“Is that a fact?”

“It absolutely is.”

He changes the subject to why he called.

“I’m glad to hear that. But how are you, really? Still stressed?”

She hums again, and he can hear a rustling like she is stretching out in a bed. The image plays on a loop in his mind.

“I was. But talking to you, not to mention the glorious hour long bath I just got out of has done wonders for my stress levels.”

“Daenerys,” he growls, “you can’t just go around telling a man you’re fresh out of the bath this close to bed time. It’s not fair. How am I meant to sleep now that I’m picturing that?”

“Maybe I just wanted to give you pleasant dreams.” she replies in a breathy little voice that does absolutely _nothing_ to help his current predicament.

“Or maybe I just wanted to let you know what you were missing. I did invite you over tonight after all. And it would have been our fourth date. Don’t you know dating code, Doctor Snow?”

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck everything to hell.

Except him apparently.

Because he is certainly not getting fucked.

Not in the way he wants.

“Daenerys…” he groans.

This is so unfair.

“I’m only kidding, I know how important your sister is to you. Let me make it up to you? Come over tomorrow night instead?”

Now _that_ is an idea he can get behind.

“It’s a date.” he replies probably way, _way_ too eagerly.

“Perfect.” she chirps brightly.

Then, suddenly, her voice lowers perceptibly. “Oh, and Jon?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t forget those handcuffs you were telling me about.”

He’s spluttering nonsensically, his imagination a technicolour dream show of imagery as he hears her say “I’ll see you tomorrow night then. Sweet dreams, Jon.”

His name rolls off her tongue so seductively, and he is wondering how the hell to respond when he realises that he doesn’t have to.

She has already hung up the phone.

God. This woman is going to be the death of him.

He startles slightly as his phone vibrates indicating a text message.

He opens it and sees it is a video from Daenerys.

She’s in what must be her bed, laying amongst a mountain of pillows, wearing a tiny, white, negligee looking nightgown and blowing him a kiss.

He watches it.

Then watches it again.

Then watches it another ten times.

Yep.

She is definitely going to be the death of him. 

And he is going to die a happy man.

Talking with Jon had made her feel infinitely better.

Everything about Jon makes her feel good.

Everything about Jon just feels so right.

As much as she is dreading whatever the hell is going to happen tomorrow, at least now she has tomorrow night to look forward to.

No matter what happens with Tywin, at least she will, hopefully, be falling asleep while tangled up together with Jon.

Or, better yet, not getting any sleep at all while tangled up together with Jon.

Still, she really _should_ get some idea of the lay of the land before the meeting tomorrow so that she isn’t walking in to it completely blind.

She logs onto the online forum and curses loudly.

A flaming nightmare of a mess.

As usual.

Then her eyes catch on a post by EisSnow. They never had responded to her earlier.

She clicks on it and reads it.

She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t a little teary eyed by the end of it.

It’s a lovely, heartfelt, detailed, supportive, and semi-aggressive defence of her and her rights as an author. It also outlines the atmosphere of the protest in great detail, about how much, and how ardently all of the fans there were backing her.

Which can only mean one thing…

Shit.

EisSnow lives in Kings Landing. Or, at the very least, close enough to be able to make it to a protest organised on very short notice.

What the hell are the odds?

Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world…

Not that that knowledge changes anything. Not really. It’s just a strange coincidence.

Regardless, EisSnow’s words have made her feel confident about tomorrow. And more than that, they’ve cheered her up in a way she wishes Jon could, knows Jon would, but cannot, because, as much as she trusts him, her hands are legally tied about telling him about the books.

Besides, what if that turns him off her completely? He thinks he’s dating a pediatric surgeon. Not a nerdy as hell, fantasy book writer.

Damn her secret life and its real life romance ruining potential.

She’ll just have to be the best girlfriend in the world so that, when her identity is finally revealed – if the book ever gets published that is… - then he might be less likely to toss her to the curb for being a dweeb.

Urgh.

No.

She can’t think about that right now.

One thing at a time.

And first things first – she has to deal with Tywin.

She’s feeling incredibly grateful for the support of EisSnow, so she does the one thing she can for them that she knows will, hopefully, almost definitely, make them happy.

She sends them a private message from her authenticated account.

**Private Message From D.S. Targ (Authenticated):** I would like to express my sincerest gratitude for your kind words and support during this difficult time. Your post was uplifting, and kind amidst all of the negativity, and I appreciate it more than I can say. For legal reasons, I cannot say anything more – and I am hoping, though I know I have no way to guarantee this – that you will not share this information publicly, but I can assure you that I am doing everything in my power to make the book available as soon as possible. Thank you once again for your faith, and kindness. D.S. Targ.

She hits send, and moves to snuggle into bed.

But before she can even get comfortable her phone vibrates.

It is a message from EisSnow.

Well, actually, it is a screenshot of the authenticated message she just sent them as D.S. Targ. With one very adorable difference.

**EisSnow:** Holy fuck!!! Check this out!!! They responded to my post about the protest!!!

**Private Message From D.S. Targ (Authenticated):** I would like to express my sincerest gratitude for your kind words and support during this difficult time. Your post was uplifting and kind amidst all of the negativity and I appreciate it more than I can say. For legal reasons, I cannot say anything more – ~~and I am hoping, though I know I have no way to guarantee this – that you will not share this information publicly, but I can assure you that I am doing everything in my power to make the book available as soon as possible.~~ Thank you once again for your faith, and kindness. D.S. Targ.

EisSnow had blocked out everything she’d said from “I cannot say anything more” up until “Thank you once again…”

Her heart just about melts in her chest. Whoever they are, EisSnow is a good, trustworthy, kind, and genuine person.

Still, she has a part to play…

**Queen_Calli:** Wow!! Look at you go. But what’s with the redacted bits??

**EisSnow:** Sorry Queen_Calli, you know you’re my ASOIAF ride or die (after my sister), but D.S. Targ _THEMSELVES_ asked that I not share that information, so I can’t. Forgive me? :’(

**Queen_Calli:** Of course. I’m very impressed with your integrity. But you’re going to be insufferable now, aren’t you? Now that you’ve had two official responses.

**EisSnow:** You bet your ass I am. D.S. Targ and I are now basically, officially (virtual) best friends :) :)

She snuggles into bed smiling.

Yes, she thinks to herself, yes D.S. Targ _is_ your (virtual) best friend.

The next morning is hectic.

And honestly, please don’t ask her what happened during it for her memoires because she genuinely would not be able to tell you.

All she knows is that one minute she was waking up, and the next she is sitting outside Tywin’s office – early, as is her custom – wearing a professional looking skirt suit and alarmingly close to shaking and quivering herself right out of it.

She’s nervous as all hell. She can’t _believe_ she has placed everything in the hands of Tyrion.

_Tyrion!_

She can hear Tywin ranting and raving through the walls.

She thanks god she’s not the person he is talking to, because they are getting one hell of an earful.

Well, she _did_ think that before she realised that she would be that person next. Very soon in fact.

Fuck.

“I don’t care what the unwashed masses of basement dwelling lunatics think of me, but I do care about how this looks for the company.”

“Do those pathetic whiners really think they can scare a publishing giant into doing their bidding?”

“Pathetic. That’s all they are. Pathetic. Waving their banners and chanting like they are big boys. I’ll show them how big boys act.”

“Find out how this happened. Find out who is responsible. And I will take them down. They’ll wish they’d never been born by the time I am done with them.”

She gulps.

It does not help her dry throat.

Her throat could really use some of the moisture her hands are producing in bulk.

What’s worse is that she doesn’t even know the plan.

Is Tyrion going to come to this meeting? He said not to agree to anything his father said.

But his father appears to be on the warpath.

Is she just meant to stall?

She’s all for that plausible deniability Tyrion mentioned. But surely him giving her a _little_ more information couldn’t have hurt.

She hears a violent slam, then a gruff voice yell “Send her in.” And she knows that’s her cue.

She feels like she’s walking the Green Mile.

“Good afternoon, Tywin.” she says politely, hoping to set the tone for the meeting.

Her hopes are in vain.

“Were you behind that circus yesterday? Was that you, girl?” he barks, storming right up into her face before she can even sit down.

“I…”

“Tell me the truth.” he growls, cold eyes piercing right into hers. Small amounts of his rage-spit flying in the direction of her face. “Because if I find out it was you, I will _ruin_ you. Do you understand me? Ruin you.”

She thinks of Jon, and of how he looks at her with so much admiration, of how he always tells her how strong he thinks she is.

She thinks of EisSnow. Of the post they made about women. About how strong women are in the face of this kind of adversity. Of the post they made just yesterday expressing their complete faith in her, and support of her, as an author.

She thinks of herself. Of how far she’s come. How much she’s overcome. How much she’s grown since she first met Tywin Lannister.

She straightens her posture, and squares her shoulders.

He wants a fight? He’ll get a fight.

Fuck him. This cunt picked the wrong woman to rail at today. She only knows one thing: Tywin Lannister is _not_ going to win.

“Move back,” she grits out through clenched teeth.

“What?” Tywin asks, clearly not expecting that to be her response.

“I said, _move back._ I will not tolerate you invading my personal space, throwing unfounded accusations at me, or threatening me. I came here to meet with you, as per your request. But if you do not move back _right now_ I will call security, then the police, then the media. Is that what you want?”

Tywin scowls at her deeply, but he does take several steps back.

He doesn’t sit down though. So neither does she.

Powerplays are his thing.

But two can play at any game.

“Despite the offence I take at you even asking me that question, I will respond to it as a gesture of good faith. No, I had nothing to do with what occurred yesterday. I did not organise it. I did not attend it.”

Tywin merely grunts to indicate that he heard her.

“Fine. That is not even why I called you here. Have you finished fixing the ending as we agreed upon?”

She cannot believe the depths of this man’s arrogance.

“I do not recall us agreeing to me doing that at all. You said you’d give me one week to decide. I took that week – not that I needed it – and I decided. The ending remains the same. I will not be changing a thing.”

Tywin’s face is a disturbing shade of red.

“Then you know I will not be publishing it.”

She tilts her chin up, “Yes, I believe you made that very clear.”

“And you know that I run the game when it comes to publishing. I will personally see to it that that book of yours never gets published.”

“You don’t frighten me, Tywin. And I doubt you frighten as many people as you think you do. I’m sure I’ll find something to do with my book once you breach contract by refusing to publish.”

“You’re the one who will be breaching contract.” Tywin bellows. “I will not allow you to destroy Varys and Petyr’s credibility.”

She laughs heartily. “I am absolutely positive that they are entirely capable of doing that on their own. In fact, they already have.”

Tywin makes to stalk towards her again. One sharply lifted eyebrow from her seems to stop him in his tracks. But still, he rants on.

“How dare you, you insolent child. They made you what you are. Without them you would be nothing.”

Oh, oh no. He did _not_ just go there.

“Without them,” she begins, her voice as sweet as sugar, “I would be a highly respected surgeon. And to my, what did you call me? Ah, yes, ‘child’-like recollection, the books were plenty popular well before they put their greedy, moronic, sexist, primary school level reading comprehension hands on it and turned it into their own personal five season, two person circle-jerk.”

Tywin looks like he’s never seen her before in his life. Which… to be fair… he certainly hasn’t seen her like this.

“They’ve been in hiding since the finale aired. No one had heard a peep from them. Even they know it was a disaster. It was a contradictory, fascist, lazy, clusterfuck of a shit show that purposefully promoted alarmingly problematic, anti-revolutionary propaganda, and missed the theme and message within the story entirely.”

She’s breathing hard but there’s so much more she wants to say. So many things she has _always_ wanted to say. 

“What are you even trying to do, to prove by insisting the books end the same as the show? The book, which _should_ be your only priority, will sell the same regardless…”

“Don’t you tell me how my business works…”

“Don’t _you_ interrupt me. And don’t you _dare_ try to tell me how my story ends.”

Tywin looks like she just slapped him in the face.

“As I was saying, the book, which _should_ be your only priority will sell the same regardless. By insisting on the ending you want you are only trying to protect your little buddies Petyr and Varys, not to mention the stock you have in their pathetic production company. _They_ are the ones who were nothing without _me_. Just two spoiled little boys playing producer with daddy’s money. And now they are nothing again.”

Tywin’s look turns dangerous. She knows she’s crossed a lot of lines just now.

But goddamn if it didn’t feel spectacular.

His eyes are narrowed at her menacingly, and he’s advancing on her once again.

Urgh, men and their juvenile intimidation tactics.

She’s shaking again though. Those tactics may be juvenile, but they are effective. Of course they are. She’s been conditioned her entire life to feel fear in these exact sorts of scenarios.

“And how exactly do you plan to get out of your contract?” He asks her dangerously.

Suddenly, the door to Tywin’s office flies open with a resounding bang.

“I am” Tyrion declares loudly, and emphatically standing in the doorway triumphantly.

His hair is slicked back with what must be an entire bottle of gel. He is wearing a black suit and tie, dark sunglasses, and carrying a black briefcase.

Oh, fuck her sideways, she just spent the past however long ripping in to Tywin, burning that bridge forever, all because she put the fate of her entire novel series in the hands of a man who is playing secret spy dress up at his father’s office. She might as well have entrusted this to a child.

Tyrion looks between them both as though he doesn’t have a care in the world, taking in their confused faces.

“What? Didn’t he just say ‘who is going to get you out of your contract?’ It’s rather hard to hear through these thick walls, even with Father dearest squawking the way he is.”

“Oh, good, Tyrion is here. I was just wondering what could make this situation more distasteful.” Tywin sneers dryly eyeing his son with nothing but scorn 

“If you wanted to see distasteful your mirror is right over there.” Tyrion ripostes joyfully.

But then he takes in the measure of the room. How close Tywin is to her, how she is trying her best to hold it together, but surely cracks are beginning to break through her façade.

He walks over to her and grasps her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze.

Then he turns to his father, and she doesn’t think she’s even seen such loathing from a child to their parent.

“Step away from Doctor Targaryen, father.”

Tywin is scowling down at his son. But Tyrion will not be cowed. “Now” he roars.

And, remarkably, perhaps out of sheer shock, Tywin stumbles back a few steps.

Tyrion eyes his father contemptuously. 

“I am going to get Doctor Targaryen out of her contract. You made me work here, but tossed me into the darkest bowels of this company to do your dirty work and you didn’t think I’d notice a thing or two? You’re basically bankrupt, father. This business is being kept afloat by bribes, and blackmail, and dodgy accountants. You’ve been cooking the books for years.”

Tywin sneers at him. “Ha, me and half of Kings Landing. You think you’re so clever, Tyrion. But you’re not. None of that could take me down. I call in one favour from a friend and that all goes away. This little bitch, and her ridiculous novel aren’t going anywhere.”

“Call me a bitch again, I fucking dare you.” She seethes at him.

Tyrion gives her an appreciative grin. But then he turns back to his father.

“I _am_ clever. Which is why I knew that. I know you’re a slippery snake who could slither their way out of just about anything…”

“I built this business…”

“Technically, you inherited it…”

“I made it what it is today.” Tywin roars in retort.

“Yes, you did. You made it a cesspit of illegal activity and underhanded dealings.”

“Whatever you think you have on me, you can’t stop me. And you certainly can’t help _her_ ,” he says waving a hand dismissively at Daenerys as though she is nothing more than wallpaper and not the reason they are all here.

“Oh, father,” Tyrion shakes his head mock-ruefully, “You always were so sure of yourself. Too sure of yourself. I used to admire it. But then, I also used to shove playdough up my nose.” he shrugs playfully, “Some things are just best left in the past. I _can_ stop you. And I _can_ help _Doctor Targaryen_.”

He places his briefcase on the desk and opens it

“You can’t blackmail me. Like I said, one favour…”

Tyrion has pulled out a manila folder. It’s plain, not particularly thick, and has just one word, ‘Castamere’ written on the front.

Tywin pales.

She has no idea what Castamere is. But she doesn’t think she wants to know if it has a cold hearted bastard like Tywin Lannister paling.

Tyrion looks beyond smug.

“So, here is the paperwork for you to sign to release Doctor Targaryen from her contract with Lannister House without her facing any repercussions, media releases, or attacks on her books or character” he says pulling out another stack of papers.

Tywin’s hands are shaking as he picks up his fountain pen and signs on all of the allocated lines.

Tyrion turns to her with a kind smile.

“Doctor Targaryen, if you would be so kind as to sign as well?”

She has no idea what just happened. No idea how it happened. But Tyrion had done it.

She’s a couple of signatures away from being free.

She doesn’t hesitate to sign them.

“Well,” Tyrion says cheerfully, “we’ll be on our way then.”

Tywin seems to come to life, and come unhinged at the exact same moment.

“Yes, get the fuck out of my office. Both of you. You ungrateful, impudent, impertinent children. I never want to see either of you ever again.”

They both turn back to face him.

“The feeling is mutual.” They say in tandem.

Then they laugh the entire walk outside the offices. 

Once they get outside into the blaring sunlight Dany sobers somewhat.

Fuck.

Fuck.

That all just happened.

She turns to Tyrion, mortified.

“I am so sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to cause an irreversible rift between you and your father. Oh, god, Tyrion, I’m sorry. I…”

“Daenerys, you darling woman, I’ve been done with that man for years. What he was doing to you was just the last straw. I couldn’t stand for it any longer. I couldn’t be happier with how things turned out.”

She gives him a bright smile. But then her brow furrows.

“What now?” she says in little more than a whisper. She’s absolutely terrified. She hadn’t thought beyond extracting herself from Tywin’s tyrannical grasp.

Tyrion grabs her hand for another comforting squeeze.

“Not here. We need to talk somewhere private. Come for a drive with me?”

How could she refuse him? Not that she wants to. He just saved her from the devil himself.

They get in his car, and twenty minutes later they are outside a large, charming, ivy covered brick building just on the outskirts of town.

They walk inside, and all the people seem to know Tyrion, nodding to him politely and asking if he would like anything.

“Are you working today?” he asks her.

She shakes her head. She’s still a little in awe of the room they are in. It’s a café / bar. But also, not at all. It has floor to ceiling bookshelves that are completely crowded with books both old and new. The floors are a gorgeous polished wood, the walls exposed brick, the ceilings high, the beams also exposed. She feels like this is what her heaven would look like if it were designed to cater just to her.

“A bottle of the best pinot noir then please,” Tyrion replies to the waiter.

She raises a brow at him.

He chuckles and gestures for her to take a seat on one of the worn, but well maintained brown leather couches. “Do you forget I’ve known you for ten years now Daenerys? I know what you like.”

She nods and laughs in reply. He’s right. She’s a pinot noir girl through and through.

Once they are settled with glasses of the most divine wine in front of them Tyrion begins.

“You asked what now.”

“I did, I… I know the plan was to get me out of the contract with your father so that he couldn’t force me to change the ending. But now I’m without a publisher at all.”

Tyrion smiles gently at her.

“I told you, that was a me problem. And I think… well, I hope I have a solution for you.”

He reaches into his pocket and hands her a piece of paper.

On it is a list of five publishing houses.

“All of these places have agreed to publish your book.”

She’s stunned. Truly. When Tyrion says he works quickly he really means it.

She takes a proper look at the list.

She recognizes three of the companies, two of those three because they had sent her rejection emails ten years ago. The other just because it is a household name. But the other two are unknown to her.

“What’s this one, Tarly Publishing Incorporated?”

“It’s a small company. Typically it only publishes incredibly biased, wildly inaccurate historical texts, but Samwell, the editor, did say he would publish the book mostly as is.”

“Mostly?”

“Yes, mostly. He had a few issues with the ending.” Tyrion sighs, “He’s a bit old fashioned. Said it was unrealistic for Calliope to…”

“I get it. You don’t have to spell it out. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before. What’s this last one?”

“Little Lion Publishers?”

“Yes, I’ve never heard of them.”

Tyrion seems to go a little red in the cheeks, and deflects.

“What about the other three? You’ve heard of them?”

She’s a bit confused but answers anyway, not before taking another sip of her divine wine though.

“I have. These two,” she points them out to him on the page, “rejected me ten years ago. I don’t hold a grudge. Frankly it was a miracle anyone took the books on…”

“Don’t do that, Daenerys.” Tyrion says softly, but scoldingly. “Don’t sell yourself short. You know, you must know, that you’ve written something big, something good, something important and interesting that people all over the world care about and relate to.”

This time she grabs his hand and squeezes it.

“Thank you, Tyrion. Have I said that yet? Fuck! I haven’t. You must think me the most ungrateful person ever. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Not just for what you did today. But for what you just said. It’s not something I hear often, given that no one knows I wrote the books. So maybe sometimes I forget. But, truly, _thank you_.”

Tyrion looks a little misty eyed. “It was my pleasure.”

“But now, back to the companies. I know you want to get this book out as soon as possible.”

She nods frantically. “I do. I do. It’s definitely a ‘no’ to Tarly Publishing. As for the others, they are fine enough I suppose. But what _is_ this other one, Little Lion Publishers?”

Tyrion clears his throat and looks down, fiddling with his fingers.

“I didn’t want to tell you until you made a decision. I didn’t want you to think I did this, helped you get away from my father for any reason other than the fact that you deserved much better than him. And I didn’t want you to feel pressured. I still don’t. The decision is entirely up to you…”

“Tyrion,” she interrupts him kindly, “you’re rambling. Just tell me what you want to say.”

He looks up at her at his eyes are bright and shining with excitement.

“This,” he pronounces, extending his arms, “this is Little Lion Publishers. Despite how I feel about my father, I have always loved the publishing business. I’ve been working the past few years at building this place up. As soon as I was free of him – which, as of today I am – I planned to devote all my time to it.”

“And you’d publish my book?”

“Exactly the way you want it.” he affirms. “But like I said, please don’t feel obliged to go with my company. I just want to…”

She cuts him off with a crushing hug.

“Tyrion Lannister, I name you the publisher of A Song of Ice and Fire.”

His eyes are definitely wet when he looks up at her.

“Really?”

“Really.” she confirms with a wide smile. “I wouldn’t have anyone else but you.”

He takes a minute to compose himself, and once he has he pulls her up to standing.

“You haven’t even seen the best part that Little Lion has to offer. Follow me.”

So, she does, follow him, bemusedly, through the café / bar and into a cavernous back room.

“This is where the printing will happen. It’s all on site.” He’s tour guiding enthusiastically, “but this,” he says pulling open another door, “this is my second baby.”

She blinks. Once. Twice.

“Holy fuck, Tyrion. It’s a winery.” she exclaims gleefully.

He chuckles.

“Yes, well I, like you, have a passion for all grapes fermented. And that is going to be one of the features of Little Lion. With each first print of a new book, a special vintage will be made to commemorate it. Limited first edition books. Limited bottles of the vintage. Come,” he says pulling her over to a broad wooden work bench.

“I had this made for you. I promise I was going to give it to you anyway, regardless of who you chose to publish your books.”

She steps up to the table and sees a gorgeous, clearly handcrafted, wooden wine display rack. There are five spaces, though only four of them are full.

She moves closer.

She cannot contain her gasp, nor her tears.

Each bottle is different, but the same in one crucial way.

In place of a wine label, there is the image of the front cover of all of her four currently published books on each of the four wine bottles currently nestled within the case.

But what brings the tears to her eyes is that, along the bottom, where the author name always resides, instead of D.S. Targ they each say ‘Daenerys S. Targaryen’.

She’s never, _never_ seen her own book covers with her own name on them before. She didn’t think she ever would. But here they are.

She turns to Tyrion, tears streaming down her cheeks, uncaring of how she looks.

He gives a nervous little laugh, “Don’t tell me you hate the idea that much.”

She embraces him tightly again.

“I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Then don’t say anything. And you don’t have to say thank you. I’m just as grateful to you as you are to me. Your books really changed my life too, you know. Now, each of these bottles is from the year each book was published. I made sure of it personally. And we have an excellent pinot noir ready to be the official vintage for your final book. If you still want that?”

“Want it? Tyrion, I’d be begging you for it if you weren’t already offering it to me,” she laughs. She literally _cannot_ believe how well this day turned out.

“It’s all yours for the taking.”

She beams at him.

“I do think though, and please don’t tell me I sound like my father, that we should still publish the final book, _initially,_ under D.S. Targ. With all the rigmarole surrounding it we don’t want to be accused of publishing a fake or something. But, you know I’ve always hated, obviously not as much as you, but hated nonetheless, the fact that you had to hide that you are a woman. I say, two weeks after the final book has come out, we hold a splendid, lavish press conference announcing you, Daenerys Targaryen, woman extraordinaire, as the author of the series. All print runs after the first, and all print runs of the past books will bear your name. Your real name.”

She is beyond overwhelmed.

She cannot believe that this. This gorgeous place. This gorgeous place with wine, will be publishing her books. With accompanying wine bottles.

She cannot believe Tyrion did all this.

“Yes,” she cries, spinning round in a circle giving movement to her joy. “Yes. Let’s do that. Let’s do all of that. Let’s do it soon. Let’s do it _now_.”

“Now?”

“Yes. Well… as soon as. When can we make the announcement? When can we declare Little Lion Publishers the company that will be publishing the final book in the A Song of Ice and Fire series?”

Tyrion seems as caught up in the enthusiasm as she is.

“We can announce it on tonight’s news if that is what you really want.”

“I do, I do want that. I can’t wait. Oh, Tyrion, you’ve made me excited about my book again. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

He’s smiling at her so happily.

Then, suddenly, a plan forms in her head… A silly thing to be sure. But it’s been a silly, giddy kind of day. She decides right now is the best time to set the first of the wheels in motion.

“Tonight’s news you say? For sure?”

“For sure.” He nods firmly.

Her smile turns gleeful.

“Give me one minute.”

She pulls out her phone and messages EisSnow.

**Queen_Calli:** I have something to tell you, but you have to promise you won’t tell a soul…

**EisSnow:** Like Roderick Rolfe did, I promise I will take your secret to my grave. I will protect, and shelter your secret, and care for it as my own, as he did for Tom.

**Queen_Calli:** Swear it under the heart tree?

**EisSnow:** What has gotten in to you? But yes, of course, under the heart tree – and if I dishonour you by breaking my vow, I beg you to slay me like the oathbreaking craven I am.

She giggles. God, EisSnow can be _so_ dramatic.

**Queen_Calli:** I have it on very good authority that the final book has a new publishing company. Lannister House is out. Watch the news tonight for more…

**EisSnow:** What????? How do you know?

**Queen_Calli:** I saw it in the flames ;)

**EisSnow:** Oh, come on!! You’ve got to give me more than that. How do you know???

**Queen_Calli:** I’m not telling you how I know what I know. I’ll let you speculate on it since it’s your favourite thing to do ;) Just check the news later tonight… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it was only scored through - but that's all I could do with ao3 - so, just imagine that Jon redacted the hell out of the 'secret' parts of D.S. Targ's message when he sent it to Dany :)
> 
> Banner made by the wonderful turner-cris on tumblr


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for CinnamonBurns a) out of sympathy for, and solidarity with, their quarantine tooth pain, and b) because they are such a wonderful and supportive reader.
> 
> Hope you enjoy, CinnamonBurns.
> 
> And thank you to the precious, spectacular people who commented on the last chapter to let me know what you think. Thank you for brightening up my quarantine :)

Daenerys is scouring every square inch, every nook, every cranny of her house looking for any, and all traces of that _nerd_ D.S Targ so that she can purge (that is; hide) them all before Jon gets here.

Sees them.

And runs away, screaming into the night.

She had spent an inordinate amount of time arranging, then rearranging her bookshelves to look artistically wayward in order to make up for the four massive holes where, the only concession Tywin had ever granted her, her first print, first edition of each of her first four books usually lived.

They’re big books alright?

They left big holes.

It had taken some doing.

She’s also scrounged up, and locked up all notebooks, photographs, and other assorted A Song of Ice and Fire paraphernalia.

Mission De-Dorkify is termed a success after her third sweep of the perimeter.

Great.

Now she’s starting to sound like Tyrion.

She is wearing tight black skinny jeans and a light, soft, off the shoulder brown cashmere jumper.

Casual.

She’d texted Jon and told him to dress casual also. They were just having dinner at her home. No need to dress up.

It had taken her an hour and fifteen minutes to look this casual.

Though there is absolutely nothing casual about the very expensive, very matching, very lacy undergarments she has on underneath her very casual jeans and jumper. She doesn’t know whether men are just stupid enough to genuinely believe that women walk around all the time in sexy, matching sets… whether they’re not _that_ stupid, but _are_ stupid enough to believe that they just so happened to be wearing them when the situation arose for the first time… or whether they’re neither of the above but just horny enough to play into the fantasy of it all and not ask any questions.

And now it is nearly 6.30, which is when Jon had confirmed that he would be arriving.

Truthfully, she’s lucky she made it home in time to de-loser her house, _and_ get herself looking this _effortlessly_ casual.

She’d ended up spending the better part of the afternoon with Tyrion at Little Lion, the pair of them toasting one another, toasting themselves, and absolutely roasting his father.

It’s okay – he started it.

And encouraged it.

So she doesn’t feel bad about mocking a father to his son.

He had proclaimed himself the Soleon to her Calliope, and she had fashioned him a Hand brooch out of napkins which he pinned proudly to his chest while swiping his eyes quickly of what Dany knew were tears.

She didn’t say anything though.

She was feeling pretty emotional herself.

He’d tried to tease her about her date. Asking her if she had found her Tom, but she had rebuffed all of his insinuations.

She’s not superstitious.

Really, she’s not.

Okay, yeah, _maybe_ she crosses her fingers every time she lies, and _maybe_ , she knocks on wood to prevent something terrible happening.

Whatever, she likes…

Who the fuck is she kidding? Herself?

She loves Jon.

Not that she’d tell him that yet.

And she won’t have anything jinxing that, alright?

They _had_ managed, amongst their tomfoolery, to iron out a few more details.

Tyrion had called the artist who did the cover work for her first four books. Lucky for them they are an independent contractor, not affiliated with Lannister House, not one of Tywin’s stooges, and so they had been more than happy – thrilled actually, because they were a big fan of the books, and couldn’t wait to get their hands on the last one for their inspiration – to create something for the final book in the series.

Tyrion had said he’d email over a copy that evening.

The artist had then estimated that, given how fast they knew they would be reading the book, and how stimulated they were sure they would be after finishing it, that they could have a handful of cover options ready for their perusal in as little as three weeks.

Three weeks!

Then after they’ve chosen one it will be off to the printers, and in to the stores.

She can barely believe it.

It is thrilling and terrifying in equal measure.

Tyrion has also set up the official Little Lion Twitter account which he says he will make live as soon as the announcement begins on tonight’s news.

He also, kindly, knowing her disdain for the medium, promised her that he would handle that entirely, as well as field the official D.S. Targ one for her if she wanted. She’s more than happy to hand over those particular reins.

She really does hate Twitter, and with news of the last book finally coming out, the thing is bound to be a dumpster fire of nightmare proportions.

Speaking of social media…

Tyrion, it turns out, is determined to keep using his Soleon49 account on the message board.

“Are you sure that’s allowed, Tyrion?” she’d asked him, genuinely curious about the answer - especially given that she, herself, has an undercover account on there. “Are you sure that isn’t like, cooperate espionage or something?”

He’d laughed her worries off.

“Espionage? I wish. But even if it was, I thought we had established that I am a highly skilled secret spy by now.”

“Okay, 007,” she’d placated him, and she couldn’t keep the warm smile from her face if she’d tried. “But seriously, are you sure it’s a good idea? We don’t want to slip and give anything away.”

“Oh, I’m not going to do anything like that. That would ruin my joy. I’m having fun watching the fray from on high. Fuck it’s like modern warfare on that site. Haters really are gonna hate huh?”

“Please never use that phrase again.” she’d deadpanned, trying desperately not to laugh at a 49 year old man saying ‘haters gonna hate.’

“Copy that.” He saluted her.

“Or that one.”

“Rodger that.” He replied very seriously, with a sharp nod.

“Or that one.”

“Aye aye, Captain.” He said in a terrible pirate voice that had her biting her cheek to keep from giggling.

“Or that one.”

“Okay dokey artichokey,” he sung jovially.

She’d sighed as loudly, and as long sufferingly as she could. 

“I’ll allow it.”

He grinned triumphantly.

She held up a warning finger, “But only because I know you could do this forever, and frankly I’m terrified of what direction it will go in.”

He’d beamed at her, and didn’t stop saying it for the next couple of hours.

“And don’t worry,” he’d said cheerfully, “I won’t cause any problems. Personally I just enjoy the chaos of watching people tear each other apart over crack theories while sitting pretty with the knowledge that I know how terribly wrong they all are. Gives me a feeling of superiority I never knew I wanted, or needed until I had it.”

In the end, she had had to order food from his restaurant to take home for her dinner date.

Which was fine by her. The food was spectacular.

Besides, she had asked Jon to come over for dinner. She never specifically said _she_ was going to cook it.

Those in the know call that a technicality.

Fine print.

Lawyer stuff.

You wouldn’t understand.

But she’s practically an expert in that mumbo-jumbo by now.

You don’t believe her?

I wouldn’t say that to her face.

She’s in cahoots with a blackmailer now.

But… like… a _good_ blackmailer.

One who used blackmail to take down an even worse blackmailer.

She’s in cahoots with a whitemailer.

Or… something…

Whatever, she ran out of time to cook dinner, okay? Give her a break – she’s living a double life here.

But now she’s at home, food keeping warm in the oven, house cleansed of all traces of her sordid secret, watching the clock, waiting for Jon to arrive, and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t nervous about tonight.

Yes, they had been on three spectacular, wonderful dates.

But this is _the_ date…

She’s been single for the past decade, and the dry spells during that time would have caused a drought alert in any city. Her pleasure during that time had been almost one hundred per cent self-given. She’s beginning to worry a little now.

What if she’s forgotten how you even do this thing with _two_ people?

Surely, she hasn’t really forgotten, right?

Surely, it’s just like riding a bike.

She puts all of her energy into studiously ignoring that one time she fell off of a bike after having not ridden one in six years.

The doorbell rings, startling her from her internal panic.

She rushes to the door, then stops and takes a few deep breaths to a) calm herself the fuck down, and b) so that it doesn’t seem like she rushed to the door even though that is exactly, precisely, definitely what she had done.

Once she has finally gotten back as much of her cool as she possible can – which is to say, not much at all, she’s nervous and smitten and that is a lethal combination when it comes to keeping ones cool – she opens the door.

And there is Jon, looking as fucking, well… fuckable as ever, holding a bottle of wine and another bunch of Calliope lavender roses.

Is he _trying_ to kill her?

She’s gaping at him in awe.

She knows it.

She probably has cartoon hearts in her eyes.

She thought she’d moved past this with him.

“Jon,” she squeaks.

Fuck she’s an embarrassment to herself.

To her family.

To the country.

To the world.

Deep breaths, Dany.

“Come in, come in,” she says stepping back to allow him inside.

He takes the opportunity, and walks in kissing her softly as he does so.

“Thank you. You look beautiful, as always.” He says, and she blushes furiously.

“These are for you,” he says handing her the flowers, “I hope you don’t mind that they’re the same ones that I got you last time. But you seemed to like them, and I just think they suit you somehow and…”

Maybe he’s a bit nervous too.

Why does that make him even _more_ endearing?

“Thank you,” she coos, taking them from him gently. “I did like them, I loved them in fact. But you didn’t have to, you know?”

“I know that, just let me shower you in things that will make you smile like you are right now okay? It’s for my benefit as much as it is yours. You have no idea how gorgeous you look with that sweet smile you’ve got right now.”

Well.

She has absolutely no idea how to respond to that.

“Thththth…thank you.” She manages to stutter out.

Jon, it seems, decides to take pity on her poor flustered self.

“And this,” he says holding up the bottle of wine, “is for us.”

Wine.

Yes, wine would be good right now.

“Again, sorry about the re-run, it’s the same one we had on our first date. Fuck you must think I have no imagination, or like, only two moves or something. But I knew you liked this one, and I figured, better safe than sorry, and…”

She steps forward and kisses him, interrupting his rambling and taking pity on _his_ poor, flustered self.

“It’s perfect,” she says. “Oh, and for the record, I don’t think you’ve only got two moves…”

His smile brightens.

“I think you have no moves.”

Smile deactivated.

“And neither do I, otherwise we would have been doing this approximately two years ago.” She winks at him.

His laughter is loud and bellowing, and it makes her join in.

“Aye, I can’t argue with that.” He concedes.

She grabs his free hand, “Come in properly. I’ll just put these in a vase then I’ll show you around.”

He follows her willingly through to the living room where she grabs a vase from a side table and brings it with her to the kitchen.

“You can put the wine down here,” she says filling the vase with water, then lovingly arranging the flowers inside.

Once finished she turns to him, “So, grand tour?”

“Grand tour.” He agrees with a grin, grabbing up her hand again.

She takes him through her house, showing him where various things are, and she can see that he, adorably is looking about with great interest.

They’ve just moved through to the living room when she spots it.

‘It’ being a photo of herself, jumping in the air, beaming in front of the Lannister House building. It had been taken ten years ago by Missandei on the day they agreed to sign her on as an author.

Fuck.

How the _fuck_ did that not get caught in her very thorough sweep of her house?

Luckily, Jon is busy perusing her bookshelf so she does the only thing she can think of.

She pushes the picture backwards so it falls behind the cabinet it was perched on.

Unfortunately, this results in a rather loud crashing sound as the glass breaks as it hits the floor.

Jon whirls around to face her looking concerned, “What was that? Are you okay?”

She giggles nervously, “Hmmm, it was probably the wind, or the T.V…”

She turns her head looking at it desperately.

The T.V is off.

Fuck.

“Or you know, it was probably ghosts. This house is very haunted. I find it best not to ask too many questions about what they get up to, or whatever crashing sounds they may, or may not make. Don’t want to awaken their wrath, you know?” she blathers very quickly. “So… do you want to see the study?”

Jon is looking at her curiously, but there is a glint of amusement in his eyes so she thinks she may be off the hook.

He checks his watch.

Hmmm, that is the fourth time she has seen him check his watch since he arrived.

Is she boring him?

Of course she fucking is. She’s showing him around her house. What is she, a real estate agent? It’s just a house. All houses are essentially the same.

“Am I keeping you from something?” she asks him, trying to make light of the situation which is, currently, stressing her out beyond belief.

“What?” he asks bemusedly.

“Is there somewhere you need to be?”

“I’m exactly where I need to be. Exactly where I want to be.” he says walking up to her and gathering her into his arms for one of his exceptional hugs. 

She allows herself the comfort of it for a moment before getting back to the very concerning matter at hand.

She pulls back slightly to look up into his face, “It’s just, you keep looking at your watch. Am I boring you? Or do you need to go? Or…”

He kisses her into silence which is fine by her. She’s done enough babbling to last a lifetime in the past twenty minutes since he got here.

“Not at all. None of the above. I just… I… I know this is a date… I was just wondering if… Well… I kind of want to watch the news.”

She tilts her head in curiosity.

That had _not_ been what she had been expecting him to say.

“It’s just,” he continues rapidly, “I like to keep up with current affairs and whatnot. I’m very much a man of the world you see. My interests are varied. I…”

This time she kisses him into silence. Which he, like she did, seems very grateful for.

“How very cosmopolitan of you.” She says semi-teasingly, kissing his lips softly again. “Why don’t you go sit on the couch and turn on the T.V, I’ll go pour us both a glass of wine, and then we can watch the news.”

He beams and kisses her on the cheek, “Best be careful, Daenerys, because I could certainly get used to this.”

She sticks her tongue out at him in retaliation, but internally all she can think is that she could too.

She could get very, very used to this.

When she gets back, two glasses of wine in hand, Jon is all set up on the couch and the 7 o’clock news is just starting.

While she knows that the announcement is going to be made tonight, she had no intentions of watching it with Jon here.

She has it recording. She wants that moment to cherish for the rest of her life. Possibly to project onto a huge wall, and play on a loop, with the caption ‘Fuck you, Tywin Lannister’ rolling across the bottom.

But watching it live would be fine too she supposes.

She’ll just have to work extra hard to act unaffected during that segment.

She takes a deep breath and tries to channel the two terms of drama she did in high school, feeling a sudden desire for a black beret, and a hand-rolled cigarette.

She hands Jon his glass of wine and takes a seat next to him.

“Uh, uh,” he pouts, “that won’t do.” He lifts his free arm and uses it to gently pull her closer so that she is leaning against him, which, again, is absolutely fine by her.

And so, they settle in to watch the news.

The entertainment segments aren’t until the end, so she has some time to calm down.

Though, for someone who claimed to be very interested in current affairs, Jon is rather distracted and fidgety.

His knee is bouncing slightly, and whether he realises it or not, his fingers are lightly tapping out an uneven rhythm against her arm.

Then…

“Now, to entertainment. Good news announced today for the millions of fans all around the world of the overwhelmingly popular A Song of Ice and Fire book series, which the ill-fated television show Game of Thrones was based on….”

Next to her, for someone who had been fidgeting for the better part of forty minutes, Jon has gone preternaturally still.

Or maybe that’s just her?

She shifts a little in, what she hopes is a nonchalant way, to counteract whatever her stupid body is doing to try and give her away.

“The fate of the fifth, and final book in the series had been left hanging this past week as rumours of contract breaches suggested that the publication of the book could be held off indefinitely until the situation was resolved. A fact that angered fans, and incited hundreds of them to take to the streets just yesterday outside the offices of Tywin Lannister, CEO of Lannister House, demanding that the book be released immediately…”

The screen switches from the reporter’s face to footage from the protest yesterday, and suddenly, and abruptly, Jon tightens his arm around her and pulls her to him kissing her deeply

It’s unexpected.

Not that she’s complaining.

As she said, she’s got the news recording, and she’d much rather be kissing Jon than watching a clip of something she’s already seen before.

The sounds of the protest disappear, and the reporter begins speaking again. Jon pulls back, smiles at her, pecks her on the nose, then turns his attention back to the T.V.

“And it can now be revealed that those fans are indeed going to get what they want. But not from Lannister House. We can now officially report that D.S. Targ, the elusive author of the series has severed all ties with Lannister House, and the final book is in the process of being readied for publication with Little Lion Publishers, a new company headed by none other than Tyrion Lannister, son of Tywin Lannister. We can only speculate on what that will mean for their family reunions. Though it does lend credence to theories which suggested that the hold-up was due to an issue with Lannister House, and not with D.S. Targ. Regardless, fans of the book can rejoice this evening as Little Lion Publishers has made it clear that the book will be available to buy in just over a month. That’s all from us. Back to you Geoff…”

On the coffee table in front of them Jon’s phone starts vibrating indicating a call. She can just make out the name ‘Arya’ on the caller I.D. from her vantage point.

Next to her Jon groans.

“Ignore it,” he says pulling her in to kiss him once again.

She doesn’t know what it is exactly, but there is something very… happy? about the way he is kissing her right now.

The phone stops briefly. Then, after the most minimal of pauses, begins vibrating again.

Jon continues to ignore it, winding a hand into her hair, giving her his full attention.

Once again the phone stops, and after that same short pause, starts vibrating again.

Knowing how much Jon loves his little sister, and worried that something might be wrong with her for her to be calling so much, Dany pulls back from the kiss.

“You should answer it, Jon. She’s your little sister. It might be something important.”

His face is conflicted.

And then the phone stops, and just as quickly starts up again.

“Are you sure you don’t mind? I really, probably should.” He says. “She won’t stop calling until I do. My little sister is certifiable. And persuasive. She _makes_ things happen. If I don’t answer soon she will file a missing persons report. My face will be on tomorrow mornings milk cartons. There will be an episode of C.S.I on tomorrow night featuring my case” he jabbers. “And she’s _prepared._ In fact,” he goes pensive scratching at the stubble of his bearded chin, “I’m fairly certain I caught her working on editing my ‘In Memoriam’ video once. It was rather alarming actually, because it coincided with her obsession with true crime novels, and honestly I slept with a chair propped up against my door knob for well over half a year and…”

“Darling,” she cuts him off with a gentle hand on his cheek, “you’re rambling. Go call your sister. She clearly wants to talk to you very much. And while I certainly wouldn’t mind your good looking face smiling at me from my milk carton tomorrow morning, I think we could probably do without the rest.”

He turns his head and kisses her palm before jumping up and grabbing his phone.

“I’ll be right back.” he promises.

Fucking Arya.

How had he not foreseen that this would happen?

_Of course_ she would call him immediately after finding out such fantastic news for them.

But she came very close to blowing his cover.

And he is not out of the woods yet.

It’s not like he can go outside and call her back. That would be incredibly rude, and Daenerys would wonder what the hell was wrong with him.

The best he can do is the study, but even then there is a chance she will overhear him.

Damnit.

And also, _damn_ , what sort of Mrs Monopoly has a study? He knows surgeons make good money, being one himself, and his house is nice. But Daenerys’ house? It is incredible. And fancy. Maybe she’s just a better saver than him..?

He’ll ponder that later.

Right now he has to call back his sister and play this phone conversation out in a way that does _not_ let on to Daenerys that he just received some of the best news of his life so that she doesn’t throw him out for being a dork.

He calls Arya and she answers instantly.

All that he can hear is wild, frenzied, excited screeching.

He frantically presses the button on the side of his phone to lower the volume, hoping like hell Daenerys can’t hear that from the other room.

He’s pretty sure people can hear it on Mars.

“Hello, Arya,” he says in a calm, measured tone. “What’s going on?”

“What’s going on? What’s going on? What’s going on? Are you under a rock? Did you not watch the news?” she screams. He can hear her bouncing around her room.

“Yes, it’s nice to hear from you as well.” He replies evenly.

“What? Why are you being weird? Check the news, Jon. Check the news.” she demands.

“Indeed, I have.” cool, calm, collected.

“Jon? You sound like you’ve been taken hostage.” she says warily.

He just laughs lightly in reply.

“Jon? Jon? Say ‘Arya is the best person alive’ if you need help.”

“I would never say that even if I did.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? _Did_ you see the news? The book, Jon. The BOOK. It’s coming. In LESS THAN A MONTH. Why aren’t you more excited about this?” he can tell Arya is getting frustrated, and he does feel bad, but this is a necessary ruse to keep his girlfriend thinking he is cool long enough for him to prove himself irreplaceable to her so that when the truth finally does come out she might possibly still keep him.

“Yes, I did. That’s great, Arya, really. But I can’t talk for long, I’m sorry, I’m at Daenerys’ house right now.”

“Ooooooooooooooooooooh,” she draws out sarcastically, “so _that’s_ what this is all about. You trying to look cool in front of Doctor Dany. You chicken. Fuck,” she starts laughing like a maniac, “I can just imagine you trying to look all suave and unaffected while hearing that news right next to her. Bet you blew it.”

“Not at all,” he grits out through his teeth, offended that his little sister thinks him such a poor thespian.

“Oh, I’m sure you did, you numbskull. I bet you…”

“I’ll talk to you later too. Bye, love you.” he interrupts her before she can really get going, and before he runs out of empty, yet semi-meaningful replies to respond with.

He just wants to get back to Daenerys.

But before he does, he cannot resist firing off a quick message to Queen_Calli.

**EisSnow:** OMG!!! OMG YOU WERE RIGHT!! How did you know? How? What black magic do you have, witch? Tell me your secret. Pleeeeeeeease????? Go on. You know you want to :) I’ll introduce you to my online BFF D.S. Targ if you do ;)

With Jon out of the room, Dany takes a quick moment to compose herself.

She thinks she played that pretty cool all things considered.

Jon didn’t seem suspicious or anything.

Yep.

She was one cool cucumber.

Probably…

Hopefully…

She pulls out her own phone to do the one thing she had promised Tyrion that she would do after the announcement.

She logs onto her D.S. Targ Twitter account, peering at the screen through her fingers in a childish attempt to _not_ have to see any of the messages on there, and searches for the Little Lion Publishers new account.

Tyrion had said he would open it as soon as the announcement hit.

She finds it and her eyes widen.

Holy fuck.

It’s only been about ten minutes and already the account has over 600,000 followers.

She doesn’t even want to think about what that means. About the kind of pressure that puts on her last book. On her.

Her throat feels tight.

How many people have been in the position to disappoint millions of strangers before? It would be nice to know so that she could join their support group or something.

But she can’t spiral right now.

Jon is here.

And Jon can’t know.

So she just does what she promised she’d do and follows Little Lion as D.S. Targ, cementing the authenticity of the announcement.

She’s about to put her phone away when it buzzes signalling a message from EisSnow.

She reads it quickly, and starts giggling.

God, EisSnow can be _so_ dramatic. But then, she knew what she was doing when she set this up. That was the kind of reaction she was hoping for.

She can’t reply now though. Jon is here. Plus, it will be fun to leave EisSnow in suspense.

She puts her phone away, but is still giggling at the content of his message when Jon walks back in to the living room.

“What’s so funny?” he asks smiling at her.

“Oh, just a message from a friend. Is everything alright?” she deflects.

He walks over and sits back down next to her, scooping her up and onto his lap effortlessly before kissing her softly, and sweetly on top of her head. “Mmmmm, it is now.”

They stay that way for a while, just soaking in the warmth and comfort of one another, until she hears Jon’s stomach rumble.

She giggles, “I am being a very poor hostess, seems like someone is hungry,” she says placing her hand on his stomach and rubbing it.

Holy motherfucking fuck, those are some abs.

Do people _really_ need to eat?

Is that really necessary?

Can’t she just jump him right here and now?

No, Dany. Be good.

Feed your guest now.

Abs later.

Hopefully.

“Let’s eat,” she says standing up reluctantly. “You go sit at the table, bring our glasses will you? And I’ll go get the food.”

Both set to their tasks, and soon they are dining on one of the most exquisite meals she has ever tasted.

She really made the right decision going with Little Lion.

The side perks alone are worth it.

“This is _amazing_ , Daenerys,” Jon exclaims appreciatively between bites.

“I’d love to be able to take credit, but sadly I can’t. I was running a little late this afternoon, so I had to pick dinner up for us. I can cook, not like this, but I can, and I did have every intention to do so, things just got away from me.”

“Well, feel free to be running late every time you invite me over for dinner, because I would happily eat this seven days a week.”

“Oh, so you’ll be coming over for dinner seven days a week now?” she teases him.

He goes a little red, and gets a little flustered. Adorable man that he is, and he changes the subject very abruptly.

“You’ve got an amazing collection of books. Really. I’ve never seen anything like it outside of a library.”

“Thanks. It’s a lifetime in the making, and it will only keep growing I suppose.”

“What sort of books do you like?” he asks her. And for some reason, one she can’t quite parse out, she feels as though something very important to him hinges on her answer. It might be the way he is looking at her…

She’s probably just imagining it because of her, currently secret, shame. So she hedges in her response while still being truthful.

“I like stories that have a satisfying ending.”

“Satisfying?” he questions.

“Urgh, fine.” she huffs jokingly throwing her hands up in surrender. “That’s just my obfuscatorial way of saying I like happy endings alright? Don’t judge me. The world is a shitty enough place as it is. I like to take my novels with a spoon or two full of hope alright?”

“Hey, no judgement here. I totally get it. And I entirely agree. Not all stories have to have a scorched earth, miserable ending.”

Dany gulps, his specific word choice making her think of the way the television version of her books ended. But thankfully Jon doesn’t seem to notice as he is busy looking at something over his shoulder and rubbing at his neck.

“Exactly,” she says, trying to bring the conversation back on track.

“I mean, there’s a reason why it’s, stereotypically speaking of course, well-to-do, teenagers and people in their early twenties who wax lyrical over Salinger, Steinbeck, Kerouac, and the like. They haven’t lost enough to feel the need for hope yet. Or they’ve still got some of that stockpile we’re all born with left, or something. Or they want to experience something they haven’t yet without actually having to experience it. But whatever it is, it makes them believe there is something superior in that gritty, dark, realism - which is really just nihilism wearing pretty analogies, using lyrical prose. They don’t understand yet that stories can be dark, and gritty, and real without everything having to end in complete and utter tragedy. Don’t get me wrong, I see the value in that. As a way of experiencing a situation that you would otherwise never experience. As an educational tool for developing empathy, and the ability to recognise when something is unjust, not right. But to adopt that as your prevailing worldview? To actively _want_ a story to end with everyone miserable because you believe it more closely resembles reality? That an ending of gloom and suffering makes it more satisfactory somehow. I don’t know, I just think that’s dangerous in a way. It’s akin to giving up. Throwing in the towel and saying ‘yes, the system is unfair – but, hey, that’s real life’ and thinking that’s okay. When really stories should be inspiring the exact opposite. They should always have that element of, well, of hope. Sorry, I’m ranting…” she says biting her lip worried she’s boring Jon to death.

“No. No, no, no, no, you’re really not. It’s really interesting, go on,” he says incredibly sincerely, his full attention on her.

And just like that she falls even more in love with him.

“Okay, I mean, look at _The Bell Jar_ , dark as hell, gritty, realistic, but it ends on a note of hope…kind of… – though… I suppose quite a bit of that hope is taken away when you consider what happened to Plath. Though the book itself doesn’t end like that. But hell, even _Spot goes to School_ is dark, gritty, and realistic – relative to its audience of course – yet in the end it’s a fun book about a dog having new experiences and making new friends.”

He’s grinning widely at her now “ _Spot goes to School_?” he asks amusedly.

“I know my children’s books, okay?” she defends, “I have a CF kid who is absolutely in love with Spot. I think I could do a one woman show of all forty or so of them by now.”

“Now _that_ I’d pay to see.”

His grin is even wider now, and she has no idea if he is genuinely making fun of her or not.

“Don’t look at me like that – I’m a fucking pediatric surgeon, I work with kids, I…”

“Not with that mouth I hope you don’t.” he smirks.

“Oh, you have _no idea_ what this mouth is capable of, Doctor.”

His smile has turned dark, almost predatory, and his eyes are focused intently on her lips. It has her squirming in her seat.

“I have some idea of what it can do,” he replies. “But I’d be more than willing to continue my education on the subject.”

She stares straight back at him, her gaze never wavering as she takes a sip of her wine. Once she’s done, she licks her lips slowly, and purposefully.

“I’m sure that can be arranged.”

His face has taken on a whole different look now. Were she a vainer person she would have thought it veneration. His eyes are sparkling, and his lips are turned up in a gentle smile.

“What?” she asked, trying not to feel uncomfortable under his intense scrutiny.

“I’m just trying to work out how you manage to pull off simultaneously being the cutest person in the world, and the sexiest person on the entire planet.”

She blushes furiously, and tries to demure, mumbling “Jon” and putting her head down, playing with what’s left of her food.

“You better get used to taking a compliment, baby, because I’ve got two years worth of them stored up for you, and I intend on you hearing every single one of them and then some.”

Her head shoots up to look at him in astonishment, but he carries on as though what he just said wasn’t possibly the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to her.

“But seriously, you’re right. I wish actual authors thought like you” he says looking really wistful. “Maybe then I’d be less reluctant to read.”

“You’re reluctant to read?”

He runs his hand through his hair, which is loose and glossy and… well… it’s beautiful. He may not like it, and she’s sure she’ll find out one day, but beautiful is perhaps _the_ most accurate description of Doctor Jon Snow. Both inside, and out.

Right now he has a little frown on his face, thinking hard about his answer.

“I love reading too. I really do. But, I don’t know… I agree with you entirely. I don’t know why people have suddenly decided that happy, or satisfying endings are boring or cliché. It’s just as cliché for everything to turn out pointless because so many stories end that way. And I guess that’s why I’m reluctant. When I read I… well, I get really invested in the characters, in their lives. So, I’m always worried I’m going to be let down by their ending. When you’ve put that much time into learning about characters, their relationships, their wants, what drives them, I want an ending that provides some pay-off for that. Some satisfaction. Some catharsis. Some closure. Or, if not complete closure, then at least some sense of peace, and yeah, like you said, hope. When I devote time to characters I want something better for them. Something good. I want them to be happy. Look, I know they’re not real okay? Don’t go digging through your mind back to your psych rotation to diagnose me or anything. I just, I don’t know I feel for them. I get… well… like I said, I get invested in their lives. I want to know what I’ve read had a purpose. It doesn’t have to be all beer and skittles, but I need something, you know? I need to know that it doesn’t all end in pointless futility. But I also don’t want to go into reading a book already knowing the ending because I hate spoilers. So, I’m at this impasse.”

Wow. That was really something. It’s like they are of the same mind when it comes to narratives. As if she needed any more reasons to fall further in love with this man.

“I couldn’t agree more.” she says simply, because he is looking a little exposed, like he just bared his soul or something, and she doesn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable.

“What was the last book you read?” she asks.

He stutters a little over his response, “Oh, I umm, God, I haven’t read anything new in just over two years. Perhaps you can recommend me something to read?”

She startles a little, but thankfully hides it well. 

“Sure, maybe one day soon I’ll recommend you a book or two.” she replies as evenly as she can.

Honestly, when the truth of all this comes out, she would love nothing more than for Jon to, at the very least, give reading her books a go.

He doesn’t have to like them, he _certainly_ doesn’t have to read them all, but it would mean a lot to her if he wanted to try to see a little bit of that part of her world.

Provided he hasn’t already dumped her _because_ of said truth that is.

“So,” she says changing the topic to something a little less loaded (for her at least), and away from her many lies by omission (regardless of how legally necessary they are), “baby?”

“What?”

“You called me baby.”

“You don’t like it?”

She merely raises her eyebrow in response.

“How about babe?”

Eyebrow raise intensifies.

“Sweetheart?”

She tilts her head to the side appraisingly, eyebrow still sky high.

“Dearest?”

Add pout to look.

“Darling?”

Add nose wrinkle.

“Princess?”

“I’d be a queen, not a princess,” she interjects finally dropping the, very difficult to maintain, facial expression.

“My sincerest apologies, Your Majesty. Your majestic magnificence.”

“That’s much better,” she says as she walks over and straddles his lap.

“But really, I don’t mind what you want to call me. I’m much more interested in what you want to do to me.” she says lowly, running her hands lightly up and down his arms.

Then she kisses him, hard and wanting, and he responds with equal amounts of enthusiasm.

He pulls back suddenly, “That’s wonderful to hear my little tulip garden.” He says grinning up at her playfully.

She laughs before she can stop herself, then climbs off his lap feigning a huff.

“Okay, maybe I _do_ mind what you call me. And now that you have effectively ruined the mood my sweet honey muffin, I am going to take these plates and clean up.”

“Woah, woah, woah. Let’s not be too hasty with regards to accusations, with regards to mood, with regards to being ruined,” he pouts trying to pull her back.

“Uh, uh Doctor Curly Whirly,” she says dodging his grasping hands, and ruffling his goddamed perfect hair, “damage is done now.”

“Awwww, come on angel blossom, don’t be like that.” he whines as she gathers up their plates.

“Like what, cutie booty?” she retorts making her way to the kitchen.

“Snufflebunnyyyyyyyy????” Jon yells at her retreating form, “Come back. Please?”

She laughs loudly at his plea as she puts the plates in the dishwasher.

She must have been laughing too loudly.

Or Jon is a ninja.

Because suddenly he is behind her pulling her back towards him, before swivelling them both and pushing her gently against the counter. Her back to his front.

Then his lips are on her neck, kissing and licking. His hands running up and down her sides, venturing lower to palm at her ass before sliding up again.

Oh god, yes.

Finally.

She throws her head back against his shoulder to provide him with all the access he could want, and grinds herself against him feeling how hot, and hard, and ready for her he is.

His hand slips under her jumper and glides up her bare stomach to her breast which he cups gently, before kneading it more roughly, his thumb working its magic on her nipple which is straining against her bra.

He drags his teeth down the side of her neck and bites lightly at the spot where her pulse is racing, before kissing his way back up to her ear.

“God, Daenerys,” he groans, “I want you so fucking much. I’ve wanted you for so long. You have no idea what you do to me.”

“And I want you.” She pants. “Fuck that. I _need_ you, Jon,” her voice has a breathy, begging quality to it and she doesn’t even care. She does need him. Right fucking now. She doesn’t think she has ever been this wet, or this desperate.

But Jon seems content to take his time exploring underneath her jumper, lavishing her neck with attention, absolutely inundating, and overwhelming her senses until all she can feel is him and what he is doing to her body.

She’s panting, and moaning, grinding herself against him, she might even be begging she thinks, but her mind is so foggy, so infused with the sensation of his hands and lips on her that she cannot be sure. Yet still, he seems content with the pace.

But she is not.

“Jon Snow, if you don’t touch me properly soon I am going to get started without you, so help me god.”

He stops kissing her but leaves his lips nestled against the spot where her neck meets her shoulder.

“Okay, now I’m torn. _That_ I definitely want to see… wait… I’m getting off track. I want to see that later. I _will_ ” he growls, and it makes her shiver, “see that later. But right now, the only person who is going to be touching you. The only person who is going to be making you scream is me.” He tugs her hair a little so she is turned to facing him, “Do you understand?”

She nods. It’s all she can do. She is far, far too far gone at this point.

Then in one movement he lifts her up onto the counter and positions himself between her spread legs before he begins kissing her intensely.

She runs her hands up under his black jersey, finally getting a feel of those glorious abs, and pulls it over his head tossing it aside.

He makes a rough noise in the back of his throat before attacking her lips once again.

He’s pressed tightly against her, and she can feel him through both their jeans as she rubs her centre against him, desperate for friction.

How the hell is she going to get those jeans off from her current position?

But then, suddenly he pulls back.

“Wait, wait, wait. Daenerys, wait. Stop.” he says breathing heavily.

She’s confused.

Stop? Why?

“I don’t want to fuck you in your kitchen. I mean… I do… very much in fact… just, just not the first time”

Right.

Of course.

Manners.

Decorum.

Emily Post would have a lot to say about what was going on right now, and none of it would be positive.

“Bedroom?” she says hopefully.

“Aye, bedroom.” He growls, lifting her into his arms as she wraps her legs around his waist.

Jon is already smiling when he wakes up.

He’s so fucking happy he doesn’t know how his body is managing to contain it all.

A deliciously naked Daenerys is curled up against his side. Her arm wrapped snuggly around his waist, her head on his chest and their legs entwined.

If he could get away with it, he would never move from this spot.

Ever.

Alas, however, he has to go to work. And so does she.

In fact, she is already waking up. The internal alarm clock of a surgeon is a remarkable thing.

She stretches luxuriously, and he can feel every glorious movement, every delectable slide of her skin against his body.

Fucking heaven.

She looks up at him with those stunning, bright blue eyes and smiles softly.

“Good morning,” she says placing a dainty kiss on his bare chest.

“It most certainly, definitely is.” He concurs, returning her kiss with one to the top of her head.

“Mmmmmmm,” she hums, burrowing herself even further into him, something he didn’t think possible given how tightly he was already holding her to him. “I don’t want to move. Ever.”

He smiles at the ceiling, “I was just thinking the exact same thing.”

She moves to sitting, uncaring about modestly – which makes sense given that he had touched and tasted every inch of her body last night and well into early this morning – as the sheet slides down her body and he is faced with the perfect view of her incomparable naked torso.

He dramatically covers his eyes with his hand, “Don’t tempt me, you seductress disguised as an angel. You can’t do that and not expect me to keep you a prisoner in this bed all day long.”

She giggles and removes his hand, placing a sweet kiss on it. “Can you really call someone a prisoner if they are there entirely, enthusiastically, willingly?”

“I suppose not,” he says grabbing her and pulling her so she is lying on top of him.

She pecks his lips, then glances at the clock.

“Shit,” she says regretfully, “we really do have to go.”

“Do we?” he asks conspiringly. “I mean, I’m a Doctor, you’re a Doctor, we could write each other a Doctor’s note. The ultimate get out of anything card.”

She giggles and his heart rents at the beautiful sound.

“This isn’t school, Doctor Snow.” she says sliding off him and getting out of bed, tossing on a robe, completely obscuring his view.

“Okay, fine.” he huffs getting out of bed himself. He doesn’t want to be in it if she’s not there with him.

They shower. Thankfully together. And the repeat of their experiences from last night is made anew and incredible courtesy of Daenerys’ phenomenal, gigantic, luxurious shower.

And then, they are ready for work.

But he’s not ready.

Not yet.

He’s not ready to say goodbye to her.

Even for a little while.

He doesn’t think he ever will be.

He is so, so, so hopelessly in love with her.

“I’ll drive you to work.” he suggests hopefully.

“That’s sweet, but if you do that, how will I get home?”

“Oh, well, I suppose that means I’ll pick you up from work too. And bring you home. And since I’ll already be here, I could probably come in for a bit, watch a movie maybe. Perhaps have some dinner, stay the night. Whatever.”

“Diabolical, Jon,” she says sarcastically, “Truly. But, since our interests and desires happen to align so neatly I suppose I have no choice but to accept.”

He picks her up and swings her around once before placing her back on the floor and kissing her soundly.

“It’s a date.”

So, they drive together to Kings Landing Hospital where he drops Daenerys off before he makes his way to the Veteran’s Hospital where all of his appointments today are.

He’s happy and chipper all morning.

After last night he is convinced that absolutely nothing could bring him down.

On his lunch break he pulls out his phone to see a text from Daenerys saying she can’t wait to see him tonight. It thrills him to think that she might be just as enamoured and excited as he is.

He also has a message from Queen_Calli

**Queen_Calli:** What can I say? When I’m right, I’m right. But I’m not telling you how I knew. As I said, speculate. It’s your favourite thing after all :), and not even your shameless name dropping is going to get me to tell.

**EisSnow:** Do you work for the news? That’s got to be it. How else would you have the inside scoop? That’s it, isn’t it? Hmmph, it’s not shameless when you’re dropping the name of your online BFF.

**Queen_Calli:** :’( I thought _I_ was your online BFF. I even have a present for my online BFF – and they were going to _love_ it. But I guess now I’ll have to find a new online BFF to give it to…

**EisSnow:** Hey now, let’s not be hasty. No one told me there were presents at stake. Have I told you how beautiful your font looks lately my favourite, my absolute online BFF? D.S. Targ who?

**Queen_Calli:** We all have the same font, dork. Don’t try and sweet talk me. You’ve shown your true colours, I’ll be withholding I think ;) And since you don’t even know who D.S. Targ is, you wouldn’t have liked the present anyway…

**EisSnow:** OMG WHAT?? What is this present? You can’t say things like that without more context? When did you become so full of mystery and in the know and a bestower of presents?

**Queen_Calli:** That feels like something my online BFF would already know the answer to :) I’ll keep you in mind for the present… maybe…

**EisSnow:** < That’s for you. I made us online BFF bracelets since that is what we totally are and always have been. My piece looks like this 3. It’s like those necklaces kids have. Get it, BFF?

**Queen_Calli:** You’re trying too hard :)

**EisSnow:** Of course I am. Anything for my online BFF.

**Queen_Calli:** Tone it down a notch :) Fine. I’ll take it in to consideration. 

**EisSnow:** You’re the best, online BFF :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Banner made by the wonderful turner-cris on tumblr


	8. Chapter Eight

Since the first night they had spent together at her house, Daenerys and Jon had not spent a single night apart. 

And every day, every minute, every second of that time has just served to further convince Dany how undeniably, irrevocably, deeply in love with Jon she is.

Every time he smiles at her, every time he blows gently on her coffee before handing it to her in the morning because he thinks she forgets to do so herself, even though she actually really likes scalding hot coffee (but she doesn’t have, and will never have the heart to tell him so), every time they fuck, it becomes more and more apparent to her that he is the person she wants to spend the rest of her life with.

But she hasn’t told him.

Not yet.

But not for the reasons you might think.

She’s well past the concern of it being too soon to tell him. Sometimes it is just true that when you know, you know.

And…well… she _knows._

Besides, it is not as though their relationship materialised out of the thin air. They had been dancing around one another for years.

And while she’s not entirely certain that her feelings are reciprocated with the same level of depth and intensity – though, in saying that, she’s not _uncertain,_ either. Jon is hardly subtle with the way he looks at her, nor how attentive he is – she is not particularly worried that telling him that she loves him now would scare him off for being too soon.

No. What is holding her back now is that she is still not being completely honest with him.

He doesn’t know _everything_ about her.

Not yet.

He still doesn’t know her deep, dark, decade long, secret identity, five book thick, nerdy secret.

And she feels like she can’t tell him that she loves him until he knows about that. Until he knows all of her.

It would feel disingenuous somehow. Like she was tricking him, or something.

Telling him she loves him as a surgeon, then, after the fact, revealing to him that she is actually the world’s biggest dork.

That’s not fair to him.

She wants to tell him the truth. Indeed, she needs to tell him. Even if the thought of doing so makes her throat feel like it is closing in on her.

Speaking of, she is currently at an absolute loss as to how she is going to comport herself around Jon on the day of, and during the days following, her book release given that he will still be in the dark as to her identity at that time.

Does she want the solid, warm, comfort of his presence? Or will she be too strung out, and jumpy, and want to be alone with her trusty side-kick, pinot noir?

She doesn’t know.

And she needs to decide pretty damn soon.

Regardless of that dilemma though, she consoles herself, once the book is out, which it will be soon, and she has done her press conference revealing herself to the world, then she can tell him the truth.

Well, actually, she plans to reveal herself to him first. _After_ the book has been released, but _before_ she tells the world.

Jon deserves to know before the world does.

Besides, she very much wants to tell him. Not just because she loves him and he deserves to know, and she wants to share this part of herself with him, but because living this double life is getting really old really quickly. She has no idea how Hannah Montana pulled it off for four seasons and a film.

(Hey, don’t judge her for that reference. She’s a pediatric surgeon, okay. She’s exposed to all manner of terrible children’s programming daily. She can sing ‘ _Best of Both Worlds_ ’ in three different languages. Not that she’s proud of that fact.)

Really, she is only just hanging in there.

Though, in saying that, some parts have been wonderful.

On the day after their first night together Jon had told her he had to stop at his house first to take care of someone.

That is when she’d met Ghost.

She’d been initially startled - okay, downright alarmed – at the name.

That was until she’d actually seen him.

Then she could easily see why someone would name the stealthy, fluffy, white fur ball Ghost, even without any affiliation with, or affection for, her novels. It’s not like she has a monopoly on the name or anything.

The sweet angel had leapt upon her as soon as Jon had opened his front door. His giant paws on her shoulders in a dog-like facsimile of a hug, and she been knocked flat to the ground ending up having to deal with a bruised spine, a bruised ego, and a face covered in doggy saliva from Ghost’s eager ‘kisses’.

Jon, darling man that he is, had apologised profusely and helped her up. But she’d just laughed it off and remarked that while his name might be ‘Ghost’ he certainly felt very, very corporeal.

Jon had looked particularly relieved to hear her say that.

He had then put a lot of time and energy into training Ghost to only jump up and hug her in greeting at her hip level. A much better place considering her centre of gravity.

Though the training was worth it, because now, whether they were at her house, or his, Ghost was always with them.

She _may_ have converted her study into a, rather extravagant, doggy-bedroom.

Jon complains that she spoils ‘their’ dog, moans that she is only using him for Ghost, and whines that she likes Ghost more than she does him.

Which is not at all true.

She likes them about the same…

Well, she doesn’t. But it’s fun to tease Jon. And it’s also fun to spoil Ghost. So it is a win / win for her. 

Other parts, while wonderful, had been exhausting, and time consuming.

These past weeks she has been incredibly busy getting her final book ready for publication.

Thankfully, for that at least, she had her other trusty side-kick, Tyrion. Who often (okay, always) brings along her first trusty side-kick, pinot noir.

She can’t even imagine how difficult, and painful this experience would have been if she were still working with Tywin.

The artist had really come through sending them five exceptional, incredible different options for the cover. And she simply couldn’t decide. She wanted them all, and she and Tyrion had spent hours, sitting cosily on the couches at Little Lion, debating the merits of each before finally, finally picking one.

Once that was done, they had worked out a release date which Tyrion had announced on Twitter (then gone onto the forum and made a big deal of it there as Soloen49 because Tyrion is nothing if not a busy body), two weeks before the book would come out.

May 19th.

That was the day.

The day this, this, this… Oh God, this monumental, terrifying, incredible, stressful, consuming, thrilling, strenuous, massive part of her life culminates and comes to an end.

She can scarcely believe it.

She tries not to think about it.

Tyrion has had to talk her through multiple crying jags.

The jags are probably aided and abetted by the wine.

But you can pry her wine out of her cold, dead, hands.

Precious pinot noir.

But after the book is out, well after the book is out, then she can tell Jon the truth.

For better, or for worse.

Holy fucking hell she hopes it is for the better.

She’s not sure she will be able to live without him now that she has him.

She loves him so very much.

Just before the book goes to print she approaches Tyrion with a request.

“Can you add this in?” she asks coyly, handing him a typed up piece of paper.

He takes it from her and gives it quick look before quirking his brows up at her.

“Really? You want this? You’ve never done one before.”

She shrugs bashfully. “I’ve never had the need to do one before.”

Tyrion nods and bends his head to read over what she’s written. Once he’s finished he looks up at her with a very schooled expression “It’s very... umm... it’s... Fuck it, I don’t know how else to say it. They’re lovely enough sentiments, I suppose. But it seems like you don’t have to put one in now either. It’s very, uh… It’s ummm… Christ, Daenerys, it very generic.”

He looks terribly worried that he might have offended her.

But he hasn’t.

She smiles gently at him. “It’s more for that second print run than the first. Though I want it in both. You’ll know what you need to know when you need to know it.” she explains as best she can.

He raises an intrigued eyebrow at her.

She then watches Tyrion’s eyes scan the page again quickly. Re-reading over the words searching for some indication of what she might mean.

Always the secret spy that one.

Finally, stumped, he looks up at her quizzically, just as confused as before. 

But she just blinks back at him innocently. “Please, Tyrion. Just add this in for me?”

He still looks confused, but he smiles warmly at her. “Absolutely, Daenerys. Right away.”

And, of course, she has been having a hell of a good time messing with EisSnow.

She’s still being vague about what their present is, and, on days when she is feeling particularly playful, on whether she actually would end up giving it to them at all.

They’re a good sport about it though.

Most of the time.

Besides, it’s not like they will have to wait much longer.

She knows when she’s going to tell them, and they are just going to have to wait.

It’s not like it’s going to be long now.

Though, according to EisSnow she was _literally_ torturing them. Dramatic as they are.

Jon is pretty sure he is currently living through the best time of his life.

Yes, indeed, he is convinced that when he looks back on his days on Earth, it will be these weeks that blaze with a radiance highlighting how integral they are to his future.

Everything is wonderful.

Work is going well. Edd had finally made it out of his wheelchair, thrilled that he no longer resembles Jordan Rolfe in any way – which Jon isn’t necessarily sure is supposed to be the takeaway after such a breakthrough in recovery from massive spinal trauma – but Edd’s happy, so he’s happy.

The final book has a new publisher and will be available, after two agonising years of waiting, theorising, and depression (thanks, Petyr and Varys), for reading very, very soon.

But, best of all, is all the time he is spending with Daenerys. Falling more and more in love with her every single day. Learning all of her cute quirks, and mannerisms. Falling asleep every night with her tucked up tight in his arms. Exactly where they both belong. Together.

Now, don’t get him wrong. As he said, he is absolutely loving all the time he is spending with Daenerys. But... he _is_ starting to worry about how he is going to be able to read the final book without raising suspicion and alerting her to what an absolute loser he is.

He could fake sick?

But she’s so goddamned wonderful, and caring that he knows she would be there every moment she could to look after him.

So that’s out.

He could exchange the dust jacket on the book with a different, less nerdy book cover? 

But they’re always cuddled so closely together during their quiet reading, or work time at home. She might see the words over his shoulder and recognise the book as part of Game of Thrones.

So that’s out.

He could very quickly, somehow, learn another language and read it in that instead so she wouldn’t recognise the words over his shoulder? 

He’s halfway through putting Rosetta Stone materials in his online cart before he remembers that the translated versions don’t come out until a few months later. He takes a moment to feel insulted, and upset on behalf of all the fans for whom English is not their first language before he exits the site with a scowl. It’s not like he has the time to learn a whole other language between now and then anyway.

So that’s out.

He could get it as an E-book?

If Daenerys thinks he is reading something on his computer she would never dream of glancing over his shoulder, even accidentally, lest he was working on patient notes. But... he wants the _actual_ book. He wants to hold it, to feel it’s weight in his hands and turn the pages as he reads. He wants to add it to his (currently hidden) well worn, well read, well loved, collection of the other four and know that he had read that copy first. Just as he did with his other hard copies. 

So that’s out.

He has no idea what to do.

God, living this double life is getting really old, really quickly. He has no idea how Hannah Montana pulled it off for four seasons and a film.

(Hey, don’t judge him for that reference. Sansa had been obsessed with that damn show back in the day. And, to his chagrin, he knows all the lyrics to ‘ _Best of Both Worlds_ ’.)

Then, of course, there’s the ‘Arya Factor’ to take into consideration when it comes to the book.

A Song of Ice and Fire is _their_ thing. Their special thing. Their thing that they always do together.

And this is the last time they will get the opportunity to do so.

He knows she will be terribly upset and, let’s not kid ourselves – fucking annoyed at him, if they don’t read, and finish it at the same time so that they can discuss it as soon as possible.

Honestly, he will be terribly upset if they don’t get to do that as well.

He just needs a solid plan.

And he’s going to need it sooner than he thinks.

Daenerys and he are lounging on her couch, both stuffed with pizza, sipping on wine – Ghost lolling like the loveable oaf he is on the rug in front of them enjoying gnawing on the pizza crusts Daenerys thinks he doesn’t know she snuck him – after a particularly long and hard day.

Daenerys had pulled an impromptu double shift thanks to an inconsiderate co-worker, and he had had surgeries back to back all day across three different hospitals.

They were both, in a word, shattered.

Hence the lounging, and the pizza, and the wine.

Daenerys’ phone buzzes and she reaches for it sluggishly, swiping it open.

She then bolts upright and begins to turn alarmingly pale.

He’s about to ask her what’s wrong when his own phone goes off.

Thinking it might be a page that involves both of them he checks his own phone.

He then bolts upright and begins grinning like a maniac.

It’s a Twitter notification from Little Lion.

**Little Lion** @littlionpublishers · May 5, 2020

We are proud, and thrilled to announce that the fifth, and final book of the world renowned, critically acclaimed fantasy novel series, A Song of Ice and Fire will be available in stores on the 19th of May, 2020.

Holy. Fucking. Lord. In Heaven. Above.

That’s only two weeks away.

He’s basically vibrating with excitement, but he tries to school his expression into something more neutral before checking on Daenerys.

“What’s wrong, beautiful? Bad news?” he asks nodding towards her phone which she is clutching with an iron grip.

“What?” she replies, as though coming out of a daze. “Oh, no. Just a reminder is all.” She still looks frightfully pale. Her already doe-like eyes almost cartoonishly wide.

“A reminder for what?” he probes. If something is upsetting the love of his life he wants to know about it so that he can like, wrestle it. Or something. “You look like you’re about to pass out.” He adds gently.

She laughs it off, though the sound is a little strangled “No, no. I’m fine. It’s just something that I’ve been needing to do for a while and the reckoning is finally approaching.” she reassures.

It’s more than a tad cryptic, but she’s smiling fully and genuinely at him now so he’s not hit-the-floor-panic worried any more. And he’s far too excited to bother her further about it. Besides, he knows she’d tell him more if it were important.

“What about you?” she asks nudging him playfully. “You look like someone just told you Christmas came early.”

Clearly he hadn’t schooled his expression as well as he’d thought he had.

“Just a notification.” He prevaricates. Now is _so_ not the time to tell her. Something has just rattled her, and they’ve both had a long day. He is in absolutely no mood to get up and go home if she breaks up with him because of the truth. “I’ve been waiting on it for a while. Good to finally get it, that’s all.”

“Well then, I’m happy for you,” she smiles at him before kissing him on the cheek, slouching back down, and not so subtly tossing Ghost another pizza crust.

God he loves this woman.

Don’t judge him too harshly for not spilling the truth to her there and then.

He really does want to tell her about his adoration for the series. Of course he does. It has been such a huge part of him for ten years. There were nights it felt like that first book protected his sanity in the military. It’s important to him. He wants her to know all of him. And A Song of Ice and Fire is a massive part of him.

But…He wants, no, kind of _needs_ , to read the final book before he tells her.

Because the final book could change everything.

If all ends well, he knows he will absolutely want to share it with her, because maybe, hopefully, despite how dorky it might make him look, she might actually love it given what he knows of how she feels about narratives. And then they can enjoy it together just like they do with literally everything else. How phenomenal would that be? Oh fuck, he can already imagine how hard it would be to hold himself back from giving her spoilers when she is reading some of the early books and it feels like hope is lost.

But, if it all ends badly... like the motherfucking show... he won’t want to tell her. He’ll probably want to forget he ever had anything to do with it himself.

If he can.

Then there will be no need to tell her. They can just move on with their lives. Jon and Daenerys: just two normal, regular surgeons who have nothing whatsoever, in any way shape or form, to do with fantasy novels. 

The ‘Arya Factor’ comes in to play exactly twenty minutes after he received the Twitter notification.

Frankly, he was amazed (and, if he’s honest with himself, a little hurt, and put out) that she hadn’t called him immediately.

But the next notification from his phone lets him know why.

The ‘Arya Factor’ shows up in the form of an email.

To: [jsnow@vhospital.kl.ws](mailto:jsnow@vhospital.kl.ws)

From: [aryaBAMFstark@gmail.com](mailto:aryaBAMFstark@gmail.com)

Subject: IT’S BOOK TIME, BITCH

I didn’t call because I know you are probably busy smooching Doctor Dany (you’re welcome), but surely you have seen by now that THE BOOK is coming out on the 19th. Jon, Jon, that is only TWO WEEKS AWAY.

That’s like, no time at all. I’ve kept sea monkeys alive longer than that. And you, of all people, know what a big deal that is.

And I know you are an infatuated, love-struck dolt, but I need you to try to calm the tingly feelings in your heart just for a little while, okay? Please?

Because this is the LAST book, and we are FINALLY going to get our answers (and hopefully our ending), and this is OUR thing, and we have to do it together.

I am **_not_** taking no for an answer.

You will find, attached to this non-negotiable email offer, tickets to Winterfell. You leave Kings Landing on the 17th, and return on the 24th.

I will be waiting for you at the airport.

Also, please see below our itinerary for the book release.

Read it.

Memorise it.

Internalise it.

**Itinerary:**

**May 18 th:**

**5.00pm:** Dinner (Early Bird Special!! – we _will_ be dressing up like old people for this. I will not have anyone, even if it’s just my brother, seeing me eat dinner at such an hour). And we shall feast. Breastplate stretchers will be needed. Because we will need our energy.

 **6.00pm:** Arrive at bookstore (YES, this time IS necessary. We WILL be the first people in line. If, for some unspeakable, unacceptable reason we are not, see next on the agenda).

 **6.00pm – 11.59.59pm:** Maintain and / or gain our place at the front of the queue by ANY MEANS NECESSARY. Prison rules apply. This is not toddler time. Shoving, kicking, bullying, emotional manipulation (maybe I should be in a wheelchair, and you can hook me up to an I.V – we can say I am dying, days, hours even, away from it, and it is my final wish to read this book…), and any combination of the abovementioned underhanded tactics are strongly encouraged. Feel free to improvise – but make sure you are convincing or I swear _I will cut you_.

**May 19 th:**

**12.00am:** PURCHASE OUR BOOKS!!!!!

 **12.09am:** Arrive back at my place. (I’ve done several practice dry runs at the exact time we will be driving, and Gendry has provided me with a route devoid of speed cameras. We only need drive 18kms over the speed limit to stay on schedule. If you have a problem with this, I have a problem with you).

 **12.10am:** We have run inside, are settled, and ready to read the (fingers crossed) best thing ever!!!!!

**May 21 st:**

**1.00pm (approximately based on our WMP reading abilities):** FINISH THE BOOK!!!!! If all goes well – get absolutely hammered to celebrate. If D.S. Targ pulls a Petyr and Varys (or worse) – get absolutely hammered to commiserate.

**This schedule is NOT open to discussion, suggestions, or amendments. Should you question me, or fail me, Doctor Dany WILL be receiving an email containing your Funko porn. **

I can’t wait to see you!!!

Love you <3

Huh.

Ignoring the disturbed overtones of her email, Arya’s plan seems like a really great one to him.

He _does_ want to read this book with her.

It is, as she said, their thing. And if he is in Winterfell he won’t have to worry about getting caught like a naughty schoolboy by Daenerys while reading the book.

Plus, he hasn’t been home in a long time.

It’s kind of perfect actually.

He tosses his phone aside and moves so he is spooning Daenerys’ lazy, prone form.

“Darling?” he whispers in her ear, gauging whether she is even awake enough for this conversation.

“Hmmmmmm?” she hums, turning in his arms so she is facing him.

Fuck, she’s beautiful.

Wait.

This is so not the time to get distracted.

“I’ve got some holiday days I need to use up, and I was thinking of going to Winterfell to visit Arya. Do you think you could do without me for a week?”

She narrows her stunning eyes, scrunches her perfect little nose, and wiggles her pouted lips from side to side feigning deep thought.

“Can Ghost stay with me?” she asks finally.

Cheeky woman.

“Aye, you can look after him.” He replies.

She suddenly flops back around in his arms so she is no longer facing him, “Well, if that’s the case then you can go wherever you like for as long as you like.” She proclaims haughtily.

“Is that a fact?” he asks.

“That’s a fact.” She concurs.

His hands snake to her sides and he begins tickling her mercilessly, “Are you sure about that?”

She’s shrieking and writhing and trying to say his name in an admonishing tone, but all that is really coming out of her mouth are giggles.

He gives her a brief reprieve. “I’ll ask again: Is that a fact?” he says, hands poised above her ribcage in warning as to what will happen if she answers in a similar vein again.

“No,” she sighs dramatically. “I shall be lost without ye. Woe will be my companion by day, sorrow my companion by night. I shall long, and long, and long for you, staring out the window, waiting, waiting, always waiting in the hopes that you have finally returned to make me whole again.”

He kisses the top of her head. “That’s much better. You should be a writer.”

She chokes a little, then laughs heartily, “There’s nothing so easy to play as a man’s ego. Were that an instrument in orchestra, I would have been First Chair.”

But then she turns back around to face him, “I will miss you though. I’ve grown used to you.”

He smiles at her, “I’ll miss you too. I’ve grown rather used to you as well.”

Her smile is brighter than the sun, and far, far more beautiful.

“When will you go?”

“I was thinking of leaving in a couple of weeks. On the 17th. I’ll be back on the 24th.”

Daenerys’ lovely face reacts by morphing into a strange mixture of relief and apprehension at his words. A few seconds tick by, during which he becomes increasingly confused, and worried, before she finally seems to decide on something and she smiles pure and genuine at him.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time.”

He hopes she’s right.

The next two weeks fly by and before he knows it, his plane is touching down in Winterfell.

Arya, as promised, is waiting for him right by the gate, and she leaps into his arms as soon as he’s passed the security barrier.

They make their way back to her house, laughing and catching up the whole time, not a moment of silence to be had.

It’s fantastic to see her again.

However, once they’ve walked inside her house Arya is suddenly all business.

“Now, follow me, kind sir, to our reading room.” She announces grandly with a swooping arm motion.

Bemused, Jon does as he’s told, and Arya leads him to her bedroom.

Except, it looks _nothing_ like her bedroom.

Her bed has been pushed off to one side, and a well made up, luxury airbed is nestled as far away as possible on the other side.

Her refrigerator, and microwave have, for some reason he’s sure he’s going to regret asking about, been relocated from her kitchen to her bedroom, and, perhaps most strikingly, a huge red sheet has been strung up dividing the room thoroughly, and cleanly in two so that the two beds are on opposite sides of it.

He’s so caught up in taking in the elaborate setup that it takes a sharp and pointed throat clearing from Arya for him to return his attention to her.

“Listen up, and listen closely, brother, because I only want to have to explain this to you once,” she has the most no-nonsense look he has ever seen on her face. Which is actually saying rather a lot because Arya Stark, born in just under 45 minutes, has always had a no-nonsense air about her.

“These are the rules for when we read. Failure to abide will result in extreme penalty, understood?”

He laughs at her antics.

She, however, does not laugh.

It is then he realises that she is entirely serious.

Fucking hell, what has he gotten himself in to?

He nods as seriously, and attentively as he can. What else can he do in the face of all this.

“I’m going to need a verbal response.” she demands curtly.

“Yes, Ma’am. Understood.” He doesn’t even say it mockingly. It really, really doesn’t seem like the time for that.

“Leave the sarcasm up to me, Jon. It doesn’t suit you.”

“What? No. I promise, I was being completely serious. Under the Heart Tree.” He proclaims.

“Hmmmmm,” Arya hums appraisingly before deciding to believe him. “Very good. So, that over there,” she continues pointing in the direction of the airbed, “is your reading space. Over there,” she points in the direction of her bed, “is my reading space. There will be no encroachment on one another’s reading space for the duration of reading time. That is what the barrier is for.” She waves a hand at the sheet with great fanfare.

“Is the divider really necessary?” he asks perturbed.

“Yes.” She responds forcefully, “We can’t look at one another at all until we’re both finished. Not even a peek.”

“What? Why?” This is all feeling very excessive.

Arya sighs at him as though he is the most challenging person she has ever met. “Because whenever you’re feeling something it’s written plain as day all over that mug of yours,” she drawls derisively circling her finger around his face to accentuate her, rather mean, point. “And I _will not_ be tolerating any spoilers.”

“What?” he asks, affronted. “It is not. I am a master of my emotions.”

Arya cackles.

Brat.

“Bullshit. Absolute bullshit. Your face is but that canvas upon which all of your torrential emotions are splattered like a bad Jackson Pollock.”

Mean.

But she’s not done.

“Which really makes me wonder if Doctor Dany has face blindness or something. Because there is no way she couldn’t have known how you felt about her all those years otherwise.”

“Well, she knows now, so can we get on with this.” He’s missing Daenerys enough already, he doesn’t want to think back to those dark days when they weren’t together.

“Get on with this? Get on with this? Jon, I’m starting to think you’re not taking this as seriously as I am.” Her words and her face are stern.

“I don’t think the Pope takes Catholicism as seriously as you are taking this.” He mumbles under his breath. Thankfully, she doesn’t hear him. 

“Come on, Arya, you know I’m taking this seriously. Let’s hear the rest of your rules.” He says louder.

Mollified, she goes on. “Right, so. Rule number one, as mentioned, pay no attention to the man behind the curtain, Dorothy. Rule number two, every eight chapters we have a snack. Got to keep our energy levels up. That’s what the fridge and microwave are here for. The fridge is fully stocked so we don’t have to leave the room.”

“What if I need to use the bathroom?” Jon asks, honestly a little terrified of what the answer might be, doing a quick sweep of the room with his eyes to see if she’s placed a suspicious bucket somewhere.

“Piss your pants for all I care, just don’t bother me.” Arya snaps.

Jon’s face is the picture of complete and utter bewilderment.

“Fuck’s sake, Jon, I’m joking. You can use the bathroom when you need to. I’m not insane.”

That’s debatable.

But it is certainly not worth bringing up for debate right now.

“Where was I? Oh yes, rule number three, we sleep every ten hours, for exactly six hours. I know, I know, I don’t want to either. But we want to be fresh so that we can really absorb the story.”

This is, perhaps, the only rule that makes sense. He’s not going to want to sleep either, but in this, at least, he can parse out Arya’s reasoning. They won’t enjoy the story half as much if they are sleep deprived.

“Rule number four,” she continues, “Phones. OFF. At _all_ times until we are finished.”

She must have noticed his subtle pout.

“Yes, yes, you cannot go but a moment without hearing the sweet, dulcet tones of Doctor Dany, but we do not have time for distractions.”

“But…”

“Oh, that you could have continued being a coward for just a month longer so that we could have enjoyed our book in peace.” Arya laments dramatically.

“You don’t mean that,” he says, shaking his head fondly at her.

“No, I don’t.” she softens. An alarming contrast to her previous demeanour. “I am very, very pleased for you. Her disdain for Game of Thrones notwithstanding, which,” she points a finger at him, “would ordinarily be an unforgivable offense, she seems perfect for you. I’ve honestly never seen you this… glowy.”

“Glowy?”

“Yeah, I dunno, you’ve got this glow about you now.” She shrugs. “You’re happy.” She says simply.

“Aye.” He replies, because what more can he say? It’s the truth. He _is_ happy, and, now that she mentions it, he does feel glowy.

Anyway, he’d told Daenerys before he’d left that there might be extended periods of time that he might not be able to talk, without going in to any specifics. She hadn’t asked for any either. She’d just kind of agreed without question, and remarked that it was actually a pretty busy week for her as well, so the same might be true for her and her telephone availability.

“Besides, this rule is not in place to torture your sweet, romantic soul. It’s to avoid any notifications or spoilers that might come through from some dickwipe on the message board, or Twitter that skips to the end first and posts it for everyone to see.”

Frankly, he can’t argue with that. That would literally be the worst.

“Anyway, rule number five, no reaction noises. No gasps, no squeals, no giggles, no sobbing. I don’t care how you muffle your joy, or pain, just keep it inside until debrief time. May I suggest shoving your face into a pillow if need be?”

“Got it. Not a peep.”

“And finally, on a similar note, rule number six, no talking. At all. When you have finished the book you ring this bell,” she says indicating a bell she has placed next to his makeshift bed. “I have one too. Whoever finishes first simply has to wait patiently and quietly for the other person to finish. Understood?”

The ‘understood?’ has very threatening undertones to it.

“I mean, I appreciate all you’ve done here. Really. But… Bloody hell, Arya. This setup is more regimented than anything I had to deal with in the military.” 

“Is that complaining I hear? Are you complaining?” She’s suddenly fixing him with a very dangerous look.

Jon gulps, “No, no, not at all.” He says quickly, raising his hands in surrender. “Just commending you on your organisation, and attention to detail. Top notch work. Stellar, really. A+ stuff.”

Arya snorts, “You had better mean a real A+, and not the kind Varys and Petyr deluded themselves into thinking that they were getting with that god awful, fuck-fest, hack job, character assassinating, pile of shit that they had the nerve to call the final season.”

He can’t help but laugh at her vitriol. He feels the exact same way.

“Cool your jets, short stuff. In but a wee while, if there is a god, we won’t have to worry about that monstrosity any more. We’ll have the _real_ ending.”

“You mean if there is a _goddess_ , and _her_ name is D.S. Targ.”

“Sure.” Jon replies, unwilling to get into an argument over it. Especially not with how intense Arya is being.

Speaking of intense, she is continuing to eye him menacingly.

He stares right back, uncertain of where to go from here.

“What?” She finally demands, clearly sick of waiting for him to speak up.

“I don’t feel safe,” he responds, only half joking.

Arya sniggers, “Good, that means you’ll be more inclined to follow my rules. Now, are you sure you will remember them all?”

Jon glances around his side of the room and spots seven, if he hasn’t missed one, laminated A4 pieces of paper posted at regular intervals, all listing the rules Arya just outlined.

Black font, on red paper.

Of course.

House Alintaavia colours.

“Yep,” he replies as seriously as he can, “I’m sure I can manage that.”

“Well, just in case you can’t, here.” She pushes a red paper, black font, laminated bookmark shape and sized object at him.

“It’s a travel-size. Also, obviously, you can use it to mark your page. Plus it serves the dual purpose of keeping the rules at the forefront of your mind.”

After the intense orientation, they make dinner and have an incredibly pleasant evening.

That is, until Arya ushers him off to bed at 9pm insisting that they get an early night because they have a very big, and important day tomorrow.

The next day they wake early, and begin to follow Arya’s itinerary to a tee.

For the most part everything goes off without a hitch. Maybe he shouldn’t have balked at his sister’s planning skills. She certainly has a knack for it.

They had gotten their books, _first,_ he might add, almost entirely without incident. Okay, so Arya _may_ have tried to shin kick a guy... but he was an obnoxious asshole who was proclaiming loudly that he couldn’t wait to read about the mad dragon bitch and her beasts being slaughtered. So, really, Jon kind of regrets holding her back from him.

On schedule, though Jon is man enough to admit that he feared for his life as Arya sped through the streets of Winterfell like a woman on a mission - which, he supposes, to be fair, she was – they arrive back at her house and enter the reading room both clutching their books protectively, and lovingly to their chests.

Arya had deviated from the itinerary to take an extra moment to buckle her book in to the back seat, not trusting him to hold it. He would have been offended if he wasn’t being just as precious about his own copy.

But now, now they are in the room, and they are ready to read.

Finally.

It’s time.

“Put this on.” Arya demands thrusting a House Alintaavia sweatshirt roughly in his general direction. “For luck.”

He chuckles, “You do know that the book is already written don’t you?” he asks, holding it aloft and shaking it slightly to make his point. “No matter what we wear it’s not going to change the outcome.”

Arya just looks at him expectantly. Eyebrows raised.

Fuck it.

He grabs the sweatshirt off her and pulls it on decisively. “You’re right. A little extra luck can’t hurt.”

Clad in matching sweatshirts they stare at one another for a moment before crushing each other in a hug.

Arya pulls back first, and moves to walk behind her side of the barricade. “See you on the other side, Jon.”

“I wish you good fortune in the wars to come, Arya.”

Settled now on his own side of the barricade, Jon takes a moment to just hold his book. The cover art is gorgeous. But it doesn’t give anything away. Which is good. He wants to discover the story for himself.

This is it.

It’s time.

He open the first page, gasps, and does a double take.

“Arya.” He calls out.

That’s two rules broken already some mean little part of his brain that sounds exactly like his sister reminds him.

He gasped, and he talked.

But he doesn’t care.

He pushes the curtain aside, and walks over to her.

“Arya, look.”

‘If looks could kill’ takes on a whole new meaning with the way she chooses to ‘look’ at him.

“Do I have to silence you, little lamb.” She grits out through her teeth.

“No… I…”

“Jon, what did I tell you - _this_ is my reading space,” she circles her arm indicating her area. “ _That_ is your reading space.” She haphazardly tosses a thumb in the general direction of his bed. “Do I have to put you in the corner, baby? Because I’m not no one. I _can_ put baby in a corner”

“It’s ‘nobody’.”, he replies absentmindedly, realising his mistake too late.

“What?” she asks in a curt tone, clearly just about done with him.

“The quote, it’s ‘ _Nobody_ puts Baby in a corner.’” He clarifies in the most soothing tone he can muster.

She whacks him on the arm.

Hard.

“I know that, moron. I was putting my own little A Song of Ice and Fire twist on it. Appreciate my wittiness. Were I not _obviously_ Calli’s number one ride or die, I think I would tag along with Ulva. So long as she doesn’t _actually_ turn into a nasty, ungrateful, Lecia-loving, racist, personality-less, deus ex machina, fucks off to the middle of nowhere after _finally_ getting home, piece of…”

“Okay, okay, okay,” he says trying to get her off this particular soapbox - one she has been regularly up on since well before the finale of the show – without incident. “We both know how insanely unlikely it is that Ulva is going to be any of those things.”

“Then why did you interrupt me as I was about to read something that I have been waiting two whole years of my life for to talk about her?”

“What do you… how could you… that wasn’t even what I was trying to talk to you about, Arya.”

“What. Then?” She demands crossing her arms over her chest. He can tell he is definitely on her last nerve now.

“I just wanted to see if you noticed that there was a dedication.”

“A what?”

“A dedication. In the book. D.S. Targ has never done one before.”

“So? It’s her last book. Makes sense she might want to do one now.”

“Maybe. But it also might give us some kind of clue as to who they are…”

Arya still looks annoyed, but he can see that he is getting through to her.

“You’re right. A dedication to her husband maybe. Not that that would confirm she was a woman. Hmmmm, but there might be something, anything that is going to get me my rightly deserved $100 out of you.”

Jon sighs. But at least she is paying attention.

They read the dedication together.

_I would, first and foremost, like to thank every single reader who has joined me on this long, and winding journey around Gaianus. Like I hope you have, I have experienced the ups and downs, triumphs and losses of all of the characters. Of course, I understand that many have their favourites, but please know that every character, no matter how large or small their part, each played an important role in how the story was constructed, and ultimately, how it ends. Varied though their trials may have been, each was integral. Every single one of them. You are about to embark on the final chapter of this series. Onwards, and to the end. Unified now that the series is complete, and I hope you enjoy what is to come. Just as I enjoyed writing it. On that note, I would like to express my gratitude to the people who have encouraged and inspired me to write these past ten years. Never would this have happened without their unwavering faith, and support. So, thank you – you know who you are. Now, if you are still reading this, I imagine you are anxious to get to the story, so I will not delay you much longer. Only one book remains, and it is in your hands right now. Whatever you think, or feel about it, I am grateful, that you stuck with me all this time._

“Well,” Arya sniffs, “That was a waste of time. I hope the whole book isn’t that non-specific. Now fuck off back to your side, and don’t bother me again until we are both done. I wrote those rules for a reason.”

So, that is exactly what Jon does. He is bitterly disappointed that the dedication didn’t give him any more insight into who D. S. Targ, his (second) online BFF is. He won’t even think of them as his online BFF anymore just in case Queen_Calli is clairvoyant or something. He wouldn’t put it past her. She _knows_ things. And he wants that present.

But he also wanted to know more about the person who had gifted him with the story that changed his life.

Now is not the time though.

Now is the time for reading.

Where is Dany in all this you might be asking yourself...

Well, she has taken a leaf out of some of her much younger patient’s books and employed the pre-object-permanence state of awareness.

That is to say, she is literally hiding under her duvet.

If she can’t see the world, the world can’t see her right?

She’d seen the projected sales on the news.

Over 9 million copies sold in Westeros alone during the first 24 hours.

That’s a lot of people who she’s taught how to go all medieval on a person’s ass who might want her head on a pike after finishing the book.

She’s not taking any chances.

May 21st: 1.05pm

Jon is thoroughly satisfied.

Overjoyed really.

But also… somehow… a little despondent.

He feels like his best friends got everything he could ever want, and hope for them – but, in the process, he’d lost them.

Because now the story is over.

It’s over. After years, and years of having this thing in his life, waiting for it, speculating over it, obsessing over it… it’s, it’s finished.

Yes, he could not be happier with the way it has ended. And of course, he will be able to re-read the books over and over again now (something he was scared he would not be able to do, something he _knew_ he wouldn’t have been able to do if the books had ended as horribly as the show – even if it was not in the same horrible kind of way) – probably picking up on many clues he missed along the way given the nature of the ending. But… still… it was over.

He’s finished reading but he doesn’t ring his bell just yet.

Arya had rung hers approximately ten minutes ago, and she is fidgeting so hard waiting for him that he can basically _feel_ her irritation in his teeth.

But, he needs a moment.

They’d read the book quickly. And for good reason.

He needed to know how it finished.

Desperately.

For whatever reason, he had imprinted on, and attached to these fictional characters. And their fates meant a lot to him.

Also, to a lesser extent, he was obliged to keep up with Arya who speed reads like a machine.

But there were so many moments, so many beautiful, wonderful, fulfilling moments that made him want, no, actually _need_ , to stop, to take a breath, to savour and think. To realise that all of these threads, ten years in the spinning, were finally being pulled together into the most intricate, detailed, perfect tapestry. 

So he’s taking that moment now.

Finally, he rings his bell and Arya comes crashing through the sheet, pulling it from it’s hangings and launches herself into his arms.

They laugh, they cry, they scream.

They are both so, so fucking happy.

How amazing is literature when it can make a person feel like this?

This is what storytelling is supposed to be.

Finally, after they’ve exhausted their initial shrieking, Jon looks over at Arya.

“What do we do now?” he asks, feeling a little lost still.

“What do you mean, ‘what do we do now?’” she exclaims. “Now we go online and see just how fucked off all those thumb sucking, tantrum throwing, cunts are,” she replies gleefully.

Jon barks out a startled laugh. He could not agree more. It would be sweet, sweet vindication that he is not above admitting he will enjoy immensely to see the petty pouting and juvenile warbling of all those people who, over the years, had seemed to make it their business to ruin the fun of so many people, himself included, reduced to the ash they thought Calli and Tom’s legacy would be.

But first he wants to call Daenerys. Going any amount of time without talking to her is too long as far as he is concerned. But this had been far far too long.

He’s officially decided. When he gets home he is going to tell her the truth.

Because he’s sure Daenerys will love the books.

He will buy her the whole series and tell her the truth.

But he does worry about the other parts. Will she find his online friendship with Queen_Calli weird? Will she think he is like, emotionally cheating on her? Or that he’s a creep for spending so much time talking to a stranger on the internet who could very well be a teenager or something? 

No. He can’t think about that now. The world is too good. Everything is too great. Daenerys will try for him, he is sure. She’s not judgemental. If he says this series is important to him, his beautiful partner will do her best to see why. One of the many reasons he loves her.

Also, he needs to message Queen_Calli. He’d promised he would let her know once he’d finished the book. And she him. She was, surely, going to be just as happy as he was about the ending.

“You get the forum up and running,” he says excitedly, standing and grabbing his phone. “I’ll be right back.”

Arya sighs as though she is terribly put upon, but he knows she’s happy for him, “Say hi to Doctor Dany for me.”

He nods at her briefly firing off a quick,

**EisSnow:** Finished

As he runs out the door intent on calling Daenerys.

He’s just about to dial when he hears a piercing “Jon!” yelled from the direction of where Arya is.

He reacts like he’s about to fight the Others. His hand going to the pommel of his, non-existent, sword. His head whipping round frantically.

He takes a breath and tries to calm himself down. 48 hours of almost non-stop reading can really play havoc with ones mind. One glance in the mirror shows him his pupils are blown as wide as saucers. 

“Jon, you won’t fucking believe what’s just been announced on the forum.”

He’s about to ask what she’s talking about when his phone buzzes in his hand.

He looks down and sees that Queen_Calli has replied.

**Queen_Calli:** So… do you want your present now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Banner made by the wonderful turner-cris on tumblr


	9. Chapter Nine

Arya is still shrieking his name constantly, and with each utterance her tone is growing more and more hectic and annoyed.

As quickly as he can (because he _really_ does want that blasted present Queen_Calli has been dangling over his head for what feels like forever and an eternity), he types out a quick.

**EisSnow:** You know I do. Have you finished the book too?

Before running off to join Arya.

She is in front of her laptop. Gazing at it like it holds the answers to the universe itself.

Panting.

Practically – actually, now that he looks closer, _literally_ \- salivating with excitement.

As soon as she sees him she grabs his arm and _yanks._ Hard. Pulling him in front of it.

“Look”, she screams.

“See?”, she hollers.

“Read it”, she demands.

“Bleedin’ Christ, I will if you’d stop barking in my ear for one fucking second,” he mumbles at her.

“Enough of your lip,” she scolds him sternly snatching him by his curls and forcing his face so close to the computer that his nose bumps the screen and his eyes cross as he is momentarily blinded by the proximity.

“Alright, alright you goddamned hellion. Let me go and I’ll look.”

His phone buzzes in his hand but he doesn’t dare check it for fear of being manhandled again by his deceptively strong baby sister.

Mercy is bestowed upon him as Arya releases his hair giving him room to back up and look at the laptop properly. A post on the forum up on the screen.

He begins to read to the soundtrack of Arya’s energetic, impatient feet stomping.

**Little Lion Publishers (Authenticated):** It was our great honour, and privilege to release the latest, and final book in the A Song of Ice and Fire series. However, it is our even greater honour, and privilege to announce that, on the 26th of May, in Kings Landing, we will have the esteemed distinction of hosting an event where the highly acclaimed author of the books, D. S Targ will address the public for the very first time.

Were he not a doctor and knew better he would genuinely fear that his eyes were about to pop right clear of their sockets.

To tell the truth, despite the fact that he _does_ know better he is convinced his eyes might betray science itself and do just that. After all, his heart is currently defying the laws of human nature by being stopped entirely still in his chest.

His phone buzzes again bringing him back to reality and he raises it shakily, absentmindedly, to his face to check the notification.

Arya makes a move to bat it out of his hand, though he holds fast to it.

“Hey,” she snaps, “lover boy. This is no fucking time to be mooning over Doctor Dany. There is an event we need to find a way to weasel ourselves in to. Now, I’m certainly not above a little B and E, a little trespassing myself. And I _better_ not hear you saying you are. Because so help me Jon, we _will_ be at that announcement. I’ve been waiting for this day practically half my bloody life. I…”

“Arya,” he says softly, practically a whisper, eyes locked intensely on his phone.

And something in the way he said it seems to have captured her full attention.

“We’re not going to need to trespass.”

“What?” she demands of him. “What do you mean?” She’s looking from his phone to his face and back again so quickly one would think she were at Wimbledon, carefully taking the measure of his expression.

When he doesn’t answer her immediately - not because he doesn’t want to, but because he physically _can’t_ , he’s fairly certain his voice has gone the same way as his eyes and his heart, - her fuse, short as it is, ignites.

“What do you mean?” she screams at him.

He clears his throat, finally getting some purchase on his body and his emotions. “Do you remember me telling you about my online friend, Queen_Calli?”

“Yeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaah,” she drawls out.

“Well,” he doesn’t really know how to say it, so he just passes his phone to Arya who snatches it up greedily.

**Queen_Calli:** Such a curt response! Almost makes me think you don’t want your present…

**Queen_Calli:** But… I’m in a good mood, so I’ll give it to you anyway. D. S. Targ is going to be doing their first ever press conference on the 26th. A friend of mine hooked me up with two passes, but I can’t be there in the audience so I thought, maybe, you might like them? For you and your little sister? That is if your REAL ‘ _online BFF_ ’ D. S. Targ hasn’t already invited you themselves that is…

“Sweet baby Jesus, I _knew_ we were the chosen ones,” cries Arya jumping around the room like a maniac. “I’ll never call you creepy for making friends with internet strangers again, I promise. Oh, happy day. Happy, happy day,” she halts her bouncing having finally noticed his complete and utter lack of movement or response.

“What’s wrong you, you broody son of gun? This is, quite possibly, the best day of our lives. We got our ending, and now, now we’re going to get to meet D. S. Targ herself.”

“Yeah,” he croaks out, “I’m happy, I swear. I just, I just can’t believe Queen_Calli just _gave_ us those passes. How the hell did she even get them?”

“Bloody bleedin’ fuck, Jon. Someone could hand you the shiniest thing in the world and you would tarnish it yourself just to have something to be a mope over. Don’t question our good fortune, you’ll jinx it. Just accept it for the miracle it is. Queen_Calli said herself that a friend gave them to her. She probably has a friend in the media, or who works for Little Lion or something.”  
  


“Yeah,” he says, slowly coming out of his fog, “she probably does. She did also know, before the announcement, that Little Lion was the new publisher. It must be something like that.”

“Exactly,” proclaims Arya in a tone that suggests she wants this conversation shut down immediately.

“Now hurry along and message her back and tell her that we would be more than happy to take those passes off her hands. And move along,” she shoves him away from her laptop, “I’ve got to book a seat on your flight back to Kings Landing on the 24th.”

He idles back to Arya’s room and slumps down on his airbed still staring at his phone before finally pulling himself together and messaging back.

**EisSnow:** Bloody hell!! Are you sure?? We would absolutely love the passes if you can’t use them (sorry you can’t by the way, I’m sure this would mean as much to you as it does to me and my sister – who is absolutely _ecstatic_ ). Oh, and trust me, after this, you are, and will be in perpetuity, my online BFF :).

It doesn’t take long for Queen_Calli to reply.

**Queen_Calli:** Of course I’m sure. If there’s anyone who deserves to meet D. S. Targ it’s you. You’ve written hundreds of phenomenal posts, including ones that were intended solely to support them. Plus, you’ve already spoken to them, well, written to them, – I’m betting they will be thrilled to meet you too.

He scoffs, and replies.

**EisSnow:** You’re way too kind, and generous. I doubt they’ll even remember me, let alone be _thrilled_ to meet me, but I know I am absolutely fucking thrilled to be getting to meet them.

**Queen_Calli:** Don’t sell yourself short… I reckon that the feeling will be mutual ;) I’ll message you the PDF of the passes.

Well, how about that?

He’s on such a high.

He finished his favourite book series and it ended even better than he could have hoped for, and now he’s going to meet the person behind the books.

Only one thing is missing that would make him feel completely, and utterly content. He can’t quite have it right now, so he settles for the next best thing. He pulls up Daenerys’ number and hits ‘call’.

Dany sighs as she sinks into her steaming hot bath, glass of wine in hand.

Yes.

Yup.

This is exactly what she needs right now.

She has had a nerve wracking, anxious few days ever since her book release. She’s only left the house to go to work. And even then she – and yes _she knows_ this sounds rather paranoid – had felt like everyone had been looking at her and talking about her. Or more specifically, her book.

One of her poor patients had sweetly asked her to pass him the ‘Throne’ for his princess Barbie and Dany had nearly jumped out of her skin at the word, and had only just managed to contain herself before she scared, and possibly traumatised the young boy. She’d passed him the Throne with very shaky hands.

Then, she’d overheard one of the nurses saying, “He’s not really a bastard.” and she’d spun around so fast the word “Who?” jumping out of her mouth in a shocked and terrified tone before she could stop herself. The woman had looked at her like she’d lost her marbles and said “Doctor Theon in Urology. Myranda thinks he’s a right bastard, I was just saying I don’t think he’s that bad.”

“Oh, yeah, he’s alright I suppose.” She’d muttered, stumbling off before she could embarrass herself further.

On another day she’d walked into a patient’s room to hear the tail end of a conversation “…tell winter is coming.” And she’d all but shrieked “Why would you say that?”

Bemused, the elderly man visiting the patient had simply replied, “Ah, I was just saying that even though it’s still May, with the weather going the way it is it you can really tell that winter is on its way.”

“Indeed,” she’d laughed doing her best not to sound entirely unhinged. “It is getting a little chilly at night isn’t it?”

So, yeah.

She really, really needs this time to relax.

She’d absolutely, for the sake of her soul and her sanity, outright refused to look at the forum since her book had been released.

She’s content in that decision.

She knows that her favourite fan, that EisSnow, is happy with the book. And that is enough for her, for now.

She’ll wait until the critical reviews of the book come out in a few weeks time, and then, once she’s had some space away from it all, she _may_ venture her way back on there just to see what people are saying.

She’s entirely positive it would be all seven circles of hell combined on there right now though. And she does not want to subject herself to that. She’s feeling fragile enough as it is. She doesn’t need anything else to pile on.

What she needs is Jon.

She’d just gotten off the phone with him before climbing into the bath, and while it had been glorious to hear his voice after far, far too long for her tastes, what he’d said had given her a bit more to ponder on as well.

She is equal parts extremely excited, and thoroughly terrified at the thought of meeting Arya.

She is, after all, Jon’s favourite person in the world.

What if his sister doesn’t like her?

And, beyond that, selfishly, she is a little frustrated at the timing of his sister’s rather impromptu visit.

Because she had really, _really_ wanted to tell Jon the truth about everything _before_ she made her public announcement. It felt and seemed like the right, and decent thing to do.

Her boyfriend deserved to know before the rest of the world did.

But she is _certainly_ not going to tell him while his little sister is here.

The only thing more embarrassing than being dumped for being a nerd is if that dumping has an audience.

Becomes a family affair.

It should be fine, she tells herself as she takes a sip of her wine and sinks even further into the pleasant, warm depths of her tub. Arya is only staying for two nights – they’re getting in very late on the 24th so she won’t see them, but Jon has organised for the three of them to have dinner at his place on the 25th.

She’ll be gone the day after the announcement and she can tell Jon then.

It should be fine.

Really, she’s not actually all that worried that Jon will find out from some other source before she gets a chance to tell him herself after Arya leaves. Because, despite the fact that he had claimed to be extremely interested in current affairs, she hasn’t seen him give two shits about the news since that first night at her house when he’d asked if they could watch it.

And besides, he’ll be busy with his sister. She doubts he’ll see anything about it.

No. She resolves.

He won’t. She decides.

It will be fine. She hopes.

She’ll do the press conference, wait for Arya to leave, then sit Jon down and finally, finally tell him the whole truth about herself. As terrifying, but necessary a prospect as that is.

She spends the next few days before Jon gets back to Kings Landing driving out to Little Lion after her shift at the hospital to hash out the final details of the press announcement with Tyrion.

They’d been at good-natured loggerheads in the beginning.

Tyrion had wanted flash and fancy.

The old, razzle, dazzle.

Basically, she’d thought, and he’d unashamedly admitted, he’d wanted to show-up and out-do his father.

Now, don’t get her wrong, she’s certainly not above doing anything that would take Tywin Lannister down a peg or two.

In fact, usually she would be all for it.

But, just this one time, being as goddamned bloody nervous as she already was about it, she had wanted to have a bit of a more low key affair.

They had settled for something in the middle.

Tyrion had booked a conference room at Kings Landing Atrium for the actual announcement and agreed to only invite thirty highly professional, experienced members of the press there. He had insisted though, that he book out an event room for immediately afterwards which would be lavishly decorated (to the theme of her books of course – House banners, swords, a Throne, a mechanical dragon that puffed theatrical smoke from it’s nostrils ‘if the damn guy would just fucking get back to him about hiring it’). Where there would be refreshments, and merchandise, and of course, the part she was dreading quite a bit, a place for her to sit and be asked questions by each of the media outlets invited.

Thankfully, the announcement itself would be short and simple. In another, much more sedate, much calmer room.

He would introduce her. She would speak. There would be no questions then.

Maybe once she got that initial, terrifying part – the part where she introduces herself to the world – out the way, answering questions would feel like child’s play in comparison?

Fuck, she hopes so.

However, in true Tyrion fashion, he had absolutely _insisted_ that she allow him to throw her a gala at Little Lion in a few weeks time.

And that, she cannot begrudge him.

He has done so much for her, and a gala will be excellent publicity for his restaurant, winery, and publishing house.

He deserves that. And she will agree to anything that will help him get it.

The day before Jon is due to get back she asks Tyrion if he has the special set of all five books printed up for her that she asked for a while ago.

He’d beamed and gone off to his office returning with a heavy looking canvas tote bag with the Little Lion Publishers logo on it.

“He’s a lucky man, Daenerys.” He practically swoons, handing it to her with a warm smile.

She shakes her head bashfully in disagreement. “I’m the lucky one.” she tells Tyrion before taking the bag from him and thanking him profusely.

She bends down and kisses him on the cheek, “I’ll see you in a few days.”

Before she can go he grabs her hand and gives it a comforting squeeze, “You’ll call me if you need anything.”

It’s not a question, it’s a request from one friend to another. But she nods anyway then turns and heads home ever so thankful that Tyrion Lannister came into her life.

Jon is incredibly nervous

Daenerys is going to be here for dinner very soon, and while he loves his little sister to bits she is, for want of a better word, a wild-card.

He’s terrified that she’s going to say or do something that will leave him in a state of absolute mortified horror. Or worse, that she’s going to do or say something that will have Daenerys fleeing for the door, the last he ever hears from her being a text two weeks later saying she has a restraining order against him, his family, and all his known associates.

In an attempt to distract himself from these very real fears he is currently rearranging the place settings at the table for the sixth time in as many minutes.

“Jon,” Arya says very solemnly and seriously from her perch on his kitchen counter where she has been looking on, “I think that you should move that wine glass two centimetres to the right.”

He obediently follows her advice, nodding smartly at the result before he looks up to see the little brat snickering at him.

“You’re mocking me,” he accuses.

“Of course I am,” she says with a bellowing laugh swinging her legs.

Rascal.

“You’ve been fussing with that table like doing so with bring about world peace. You need to chill out.”

Chill out.

Chill out?

Chill? Out?

“I can’t ‘chill out’, Arya. I’m, I’m nervous…” he admits frankly, pulling at his hair.

“Why the fuck are you so nervous?” she badgers, “It isn’t like this is your first date. You’re already besotted with her. She’s already besotted with you. What is there to be nervous about?”

“I dunno,” he mutters scratching at the back of his neck awkwardly walking over to lean next to where she is sitting on top of the counter. “It’s just... well... _she’s_ very important to me, and _you’re_ very important to me. I want her to like you. I want you to like her.” He doesn’t care that he’s getting vulnerable and mushy. He feels vulnerable and mushy and he will bloody well feel his feelings damn it.

“Oh Jon,” she sighs out wrapping her arm around his shoulder in a startling, but no less welcome gesture of support. He leans into the surprising comfort trying to gather strength from it. “As if anyone wouldn’t like me,” she finishes smugly before giving him an obnoxiously exaggerated kiss on the cheek, leaping down from the counter, and dancing away merrily.

“Arrrryyyyyyaaaa,” he whines pitifully. “Please, you’ve got to know how important this is to me?”

Her eyes, so like his, soften completely and she gives him a small, but sincere nod.

“I’ll be on my best behaviour, Jon. I promise.”

And just like that, he feels better. Because the second they say a promise out loud to one another that promise is binding.

But there is one more thing he needs to make sure of…

“Thank you. But remember,” he starts sternly fixing her with a look that is half warning half plea.

“No A Song of Ice and Fire talk,” she parrots dutifully. “Got it. As far as she’s concerned we had a nice, boring week in Winterfell, I’m here on a flighty whim to see your new digs, tomorrow isn’t going to be one of the best day of our lives and _this_ ,” she waves her hand over the table in a playfully mocking gesture, “is your good dinner set. Not the 36 piece, House Alintaaviva themed one currently wasting away in your attic.”

He tries to scowl at her, but he can’t.

“Thanks, Arya.”

“Anything for you, Jon. Besides, believe it or not, I’m actually pretty pumped to meet the woman who miraculously turned my sulky big brother from Eeyore into Christopher Robin.”

Three knocks interrupt their tender moment – much to both their relief.

Daenerys is here.

He rushes to the door, ignoring Arya’s snort at his enthusiasm, and throws it open.

“Hello, beautiful,” he whispers, because it feels sacrilegious to speak any louder when faced with the actual goddess that is his girlfriend.

“Hello, handsome,” she replies loudly – no such volume compunctions hold her back it would seem – as she throws her arms about him in a gloriously tight, full body hug.

Would it be rude to toss Arya out on to the street?

Probably.

It will be fine.

He can make it through two more days without ravaging her…

Maybe…

“Daenerys,” he says pulling her into his house, refusing to let go of her hand, refusing to stop touching at least some part of her, “this is my sister, Arya. Arya, this is Daenerys.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Arya,” says Daenerys kindly. “I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you.”

Arya strolls towards Daenerys looking her up and down appraisingly.

He knows that the little brat is trying to be menacing. But he also knows that Daenerys can handle herself. Truthfully, its himself he’s worried about in all of this.

“Hmmmm,” murmurs Arya, “I’ve heard a lot about you too. In fact, I’m pretty sure that I could tell you what you were wearing on Tuesday the 14th four months ago. What you had for lunch on Wednesday two months before that. And the exact number of eyelashes you have.”

Daenerys laughs gleefully at his sister’s words.

Meanwhile, his cheeks are starting to heat to an uncomfortable degree.

“Is that so?” Daenerys responds pertly.

“Oh, it most certainly is so.”

“Don’t listen to her, Daenerys,” he rasps out. “We had her tested when she was young, she’s pathological. A menace.” he growls. “And I certainly, definitely didn’t talk about you _that_ much.” he barefaced lies.

“Oh, you didn’t?” asks Arya innocently.

Too innocently.

What is she up to?

“Then how, oh how, did I manage to get this done I wonder?” she asks pulling a folded piece of paper out of her backpack.

“And what exactly is it?” Asks Daenerys looking from him, to Arya and back again seeming far, far too amused for his liking.

“I’ll tell you what it is, Doctor Dany,”

“Daenerys is fine, or just Dany, if you prefer”

“For now I’ll stick with Doctor Dany. We’ll see how the night goes shall we?” says Arya with a mischievous twinkle that has his blood running cold.

“Alright then,” replies Daenerys confidently.

He knew it.

He had every reason to be both worried and excited for this meeting.

These two are one another’s match in so many ways.

They’re either going to become best friends, or eviscerate one another.

Please be the former. Please be the former.

“So this.” Arya announces holding the paper aloft grandly, “My boyfriend, Gendry, great guy, he works part time as a sketch artist for the police. I had him make up this composite based on the things that Jon has told me about you over the years.”

Oh God.

Is this a nightmare?

Can he wake up now?

She unfolds the paper with a flourish. And there, in charcoal, basically a mirror of her, is Daenerys’ face.

Arya cackles at both their stunned looks.

“I’m telling you, Doctor Dany, you’re lucky you’re not a criminal and that Jon is no snitch and would definitely never sell you out because you would be caught immediately.”

His face is flaming.

“This has got to be crap, Arya. You must have found a photo of her and used it for this or something.”

“And where would I have gotten a photo?” Arya demands, affronted. “I don’t even know her last name. She’s always just been ‘the incredible Doctor Dany’ in our conversations.”

To the side he sees Daenerys giggling hysterically.

“I love it,” she cries, “Is that really how you got it done? Just based on what Jon told you?”

“It is,” affirms Arya. “You’ve no bloody idea how happy I was when you two finally got your heads out of your asses and got together. I don’t think I could have handled even one more week of his laments over you.”

“Remember that I told you she is pathological, Daenerys…” he tries desperately to swing this conversation back into his favour.

“ _This_ ,” crows Arya waving the sketch around, “proves otherwise, brother.”

“Give me that,” he demands trying to snatch it out of her hand.

“Why?,” she asks mockingly, “so you can have it framed?”

“Yes, Jon. Do you want it framed so you can kiss it goodnight when I’m not here?”

Oh.

Great.

Now Daenerys is piling on too.

He’s pouting.

He knows it.

Sensing his discomfort, Daenerys slides over to him and wraps her arm around his waist.

“Don’t you worry my darling, I’ve been thinking about you, and talking to my friends about you for just as long,” she says sweetly before giving him a gentle kiss.

Arya fakes a gagging sound.

“Urgh, just when we were starting to get on, Doctor Dany.” But there is absolutely no malice in her tone. Indeed, she seems delighted.

“Let’s eat.” He declares, leading Daenerys by the hand to the table, hoping to avoid another uncomfortable conversation.

“What do you think of the place settings, Doctor Dany?” asks Arya cheekily.

“Hmmmm? Oh, they’re lovely I suppose.” replies Daenerys absently while his cheeks flame redder and he shoots Arya a death glare.

After that though, dinner shuffles along rather splendidly.

Arya asking Daenerys a million and one insanely personal questions, and Daenerys, gamely, because she is just so fucking wonderful like that, indulging his psychopathic sister’s various whims and inquisitions.

Once they have finished and cleared everything away Arya suggests gleefully, “Monopoly. Let’s play Monopoly, I always feel like you can get the true measure of a person by playing Monopoly with them.”

Jon groans scrubbing at his face knowing that this is likely going to go very, very bad very, very quickly.

“Arya, are you sure that’s the best idea?” he asks her hoping she will take the hint.

“I’m sure it’s a splendid idea, don’t you, Dany?”

Daenerys had graduated to ‘Dany’ in Arya’s eyes during the Arya Stark Dinner Interrogation, right around the time that she answered that, ‘yes, she does pee in the shower sometimes and whoever tells you they don’t is a goddamned liar’.

Hey, he's not judging. He does the same thing.

“Sure,” Daenerys replies. “Should be fun.”

“Go fetch the board, Jon.” Arya demands.

He growls to himself but obediently goes and grabs the game from one of his shelves bringing it to the coffee table in his living room.

“Are you sure this is your only version of Monopoly?” asks Arya with an impish twinkle in her eye.

“I’m sure,” he replies sternly.

He knows what she’s insinuating. He knows she’s referring to his _Game of Thrones Edition_ Monopoly box.

Cheeky brat.

She’d promised.

“Well, okay then,” she says coming up to him and gripping the other side of the game box with her strong, little fingers.

“I’ll be the banker” They both scream in unison.

Daenerys looks on, amused, while they engage in a ferocious tug-a-war with the box, pieces rattling and scattling inside.

But after a time, she steps in.

Daenerys, darling Daenerys seems to have both of their numbers, snatching the box from their hands roughly before loudly declaring that _she_ will be the banker because it is plaintively obvious that neither of them can be trusted.

He and Arya grumble, but really, considering ‘ _The Game of 2015_ ’, neither of them have a damn leg to stand on in the face of her accusations.

And so, they all settle on the floor around his coffee table and the game begins.

Around half way through he knows he’s fucked.

Arya has been scooping up properties like a fucking mogul, stacking hotels on them like a gentrifying asshole, and acting like a slum lord towards anyone who lands on one of her spaces.

He’s tragically low on both assets and cash, so it is with a desperate hope in his heart that he blows on the dice for luck and rolls them.

His heart sinks.

A 7.

Arya whoops with joy as he picks up his piece and walks it on it’s death march towards Highgarden where Arya has three, shiny, red Hotels already placed.

“That’ll be $6000 you mangy cur,” she snaps at him.

He looks, baffled, to Daenerys who, though she has far fewer properties, _does_ have a healthy little pile of cash.

He asks her how that is even possible.

“I have all the railroads and the utilities, darling,” she responds in an overly saccharine tone of voice. “People always underestimate the small, but steady income generated by the railroads, the water works, and the electric company. You know they say Monopoly isn’t a strategy game, but really it can be…”

“I’m sorry to do this to you babe,” he interrupts her, shaking his head in faux chagrin, his voice not even sounding a little bit sorry. “But,” he folds his fingers into the shape of a gun and points them at her. “Stick ‘em up. Hands in the air where I can see ‘em. This is a robbery. Give me all the money.”

Before Daenerys can even respond Arya leaps over the coffee table screaming “This is a citizen’s arrest,” tackling him to the floor, scattering the board to the asunder, pieces flying everywhere, while Dany yelps and shuffles away from the commotion clutching tightly to her glass of wine.

He wrenches and struggles under her weight, but his little sister is relentless.

“Bloody hell, just yield, Jon.” Daenerys scolds him through her delighted giggles. “You did just try to rip off your poor, darling sister and rob your sweet, innocent girlfriend.”

“I would use none of those adjectives to describe either of you two tyrants.” He growls back. “I will not yield.”

Daenerys sighs long sufferingly. “Then you leave us with no choice. Keep him pinned, Arya and I’ll go fetch Ghost to sic on him as well.”

“On it, Dany.” Arya affirms.

“Oh, hell no, I will not be ganged up on by the pair of you…”

“Too late, brother.” Arya trills.

“Never should have introduced you two,” he grumbles. “And to try and use my own dog against me. Bad form.” he mutters, playing up his feelings of betrayal, though neither of them are moved or even the least bit repentant.

Eventually, under pressure from both his sister and his girlfriend he does yield. And the three of them clean up the mess.

Then Daenerys sighs and says that she really should be heading home, she has to be up early in the morning for her conference after all. She’d told him about it when they spoke on the phone when he was still in Winterfell. He’d hated himself for it, but he’d been secretly pleased to find out that she would be entirely occupied while he and Arya were off at the D. S. Targ reveal.

Now, he would never usually want Daenerys to leave.

Ever.

Under any circumstances.

Capeesh? 

However… he and Arya _do_ have to be up pretty early for the unveiling of D. S. Targ tomorrow… so… he’s kind of glad that Daenerys called it a night before he was forced to lest him doing so would invoke some uncomfortable questions about why exactly he needs a good night’s rest.

He walks her to the door, Arya trailing behind, and gives her a sweet kiss goodnight.

Then, to his surprise, Daenerys turns and folds Arya into a warm, tight hug which, he notices (and it almost brings a tear to his eye), his normally not-particularly-physically-affectionate little sister returns just as fiercely.

After the door closes and Daenerys is gone Arya turns to him looking very serious.

“I really, really like her, Jon.”

He can feel a smile breaking out wide on his face.

“Do _not_ fuck this up.” she finishes threateningly before turning to go off to bed. 

As Dany crawls into bed feeling warm and happy after such a wonderful evening with her boyfriend and his favourite person, she cannot help but lament, and think about what a shame it will be if Jon _does_ dump her for being a perpetrator of spreading fantasy nerdiness into the world.

Because she really, _really_ loves him.

She loves his dog.

And now, after tonight, she’s rather enamoured with his intense little sister as well.

She’s not quite sure what she’ll do with herself if it is all taken away from her.

She only knows that she will never be the same.

And not in a good way.

But she can’t let herself wallow in that now.

Tomorrow is a big day and she has to be prepared.

She runs through her speech in her head over and over again until she drifts of to sleep.

The next morning she is up, dressed, and ready before the sun.

She’s extremely nervous about what the next 48 hours are going to hold for her.

She’s nervous about revealing herself to the world.

And somehow, impossibly, she’s even more nervous about revealing herself to Jon.

Which really just goes to show how one person, when you love them, can become more important than the entire world.

It’s a terrifying prospect.

But it’s where she is emotionally and she will just have to deal with it.

Whatever happens.

“Please, please let it be a good thing that happens,” she begs no one in particular.

She arrives at the hotel incredibly early and, thank God, Tyrion is there waiting for her, smiling his encouraging smile at her as he leads her backstage where she will make her entrance from.

After one of his rousing pep talks he leaves her to go see to a few more things. They’ll be starting in about 20 minutes he tells her.

Once left alone, Dany anxiously takes a peek out at the crowd gathering to hear her big announcement and feels her nerves settle a little seeing Jon there in the audience to support her.

Wait.

What?

What the fuck is Jon doing there?

What the fuck is Jon doing there in the seats she reserved for EisSnow?

EisSnow.

EisSnow.

Eis fucking _Snow._

Jon _Snow_.

She bangs her head hard against the wall marvelling at her own denseness.

EisSnow with the little sister who is just as in love with the books as he is.

Jon Snow who randomly took his holiday days the week of her book release to visit Arya. Arya who had just as randomly decided to come back to Kings Landing with him for these particular two days only.

Jon Snow who had bought her Calliope lavender roses.

Jon Snow who she’d been certain she’d seen in that protest footage.

Jon Snow who had been adamant that they watch the news the night the announcement of her book release was due to be on (which he knew about because she’d told EisSnow, and EisSnow _is_ Jon Snow) their first night at her house during their date and then had never given a fuck about watching the news since.

EisSnow who…

Who…

She giggles to herself thoroughly pleased and smitten.

EisSnow who had had the _biggest_ crush on someone. Someone who he had been inspired to write an incredible post for after that godawful day with Bolton and that poor eleven year old boy.

Someone who he thought was incredible.

Someone, who she now realises, breathless, was _her_.

Oh, she thinks to herself. Oh. This is going to be fun

He and Arya had arrived at the Hotel outrageously early. Both of them terrified of being late.

They’d found the room easily enough, but not before passing by the open door of one of the event rooms which was absolutely decked out in the most A Song of Ice and Fire way possible.

There was a life sized Iron Throne, massive House banners – though none as big, nor as numerous, as the House Alintaaviva ones he was pleased to note – hung all over the walls. Tables groaning under the weight of all manner of merchandise that Jon is definitely itching to get his hands on (he’d been looking _forever_ for an authentic _cyvasse_ set). At the bar he can see lines and lines of silver goblets waiting to be filled with drink. There’s a huge, terrifyingly realistic looking dragon sitting in the corner, smoke billowing from it’s nose. And, hilariously, all of the wait staff who are puttering around, getting everything ready, are dressed as the Others.

The pair of them stand gawking at it for some time. It looks like a theme park, and they want to play. They want in. Before they realise that this is _not_ the room where the announcement will take place, and despite how fucking awesome that room looks, they are here for the announcement.

Jon shows the gentleman at the door their passes on his phone and, to his surprise, the man smiles genuinely at them saying “Right this way, if you please. I’ll show you to your reserved seats.” Before leading them to two chairs, at the back, but with a perfect view of the stage. One with a ‘Reserved for EisSnow’ sign pinned to it, the other with a “Reserved for EisSnow’s sister’, then, in smaller, handwritten print that Jon could _swear_ he recognises, it says in parentheses ‘(sorry, EisSnow’s sister. I didn’t know your name)’.

How the _hell_ had Queen_Calli managed to pull this off for them?

He will have to thank her profusely, and constantly. Possibly for the rest of his life for this.

Now that they are at their seats Jon can finally put down the heavy bag he has been carrying around all morning.

It’s heavy because it contains not just one, but two full sets of the A Song of Ice and Fire books.

The first set, his own, well-read copies.

The second, a brand new copy of each book which he is going to give to Daenerys when he tells her the truth.

Which he is going to do.

Just as soon as Arya has gotten on her plane.

The last thing he needs is for his little sister to bear witness to him being dumped for being a dork.

He’s hoping he’ll be able to get all of the books signed.

Arya has all of her copies with her as well for the same reason.

A few more people start making their way in to the room, and Jon knows it must be time for everything to start soon.

He is getting unbelievably excited now.

He looks up as another person enters the room and his heart stops in his chest.

His mouth goes dry.

There, walking through the doorway, is Daenerys.

She’s wearing tight black leather pants, a sheer red silk top, a smart looking cropped black blazer, and towering red heels. Her lips painted a matching, striking bright red colour. She looks powerful.

And sexy as hell.

As much as he loves Arya he is extremely fucking glad that she is only staying one more night.

It has been far, _far_ , too long since he’s had Daenerys in his bed.

But shit, he panics as he remembers why he is here.

What the hell is Daenerys doing here?

This is _so_ not how he wanted her to find out.

He had a plan, damnit.

And now is about to be dumped in front of a room full of reporters and his baby sister.

Fuck.

Daenerys pokes her head in the door and spies them before walking through the door slowly, giving them the time they might need to settle themselves and come up with some form of plausible reason for being here. Then she exclaims, in as shocked and as surprised a voice as she can muster, “Jon? Arya? What are you two doing here?”

Jon seems to jump a mile in the air at the sound of her voice and whips around to face her looking harried.

“Daenerys?” he practically squeaks, his voice octaves higher than usual, and she sees him frantically, as surreptitiously as he can – which is to say, not at all surreptitiously - try to shove a rather large, very heavy looking bag under his chair and out of her sight.

If she were to hazard a guess she thinks it probably contains his copies of the A Song of Ice and Fire books for signing.

What a darling man.

Oh, this whole thing is just _way_ too good to be true.

“We’re just… we ummm… we came to the hotel for breakfast.” he announces triumphantly as though this utterly transparent lie is actually believable. “Whoops, looks like we’ve wandered into the wrong room,” he laughs somewhat hysterically. “What are _you_ doing here?” he asks, his voice still pitched well above the national average.

In her periphery she can see Arya shaking her head dolefully at her brother’s rantings.

Now, before you go judging her for not taking pity on him and spilling everything right there and then, consider what you would do in this situation…

“The speaking engagement I have that I told you about is in this Hotel. I was just on my way there now when I spotted you two and thought I’d say hello.” she responds levelly, doing her utmost best not to laugh.

“Oh. Right. Of course. That makes sense and isn’t at all alarming.” he rambles while using his foot to nudge the bag even further under his chair.

“Of course,” she replies.

She’s going to have to get out of here before she loses control of her amusement.

Or gives Jon a stroke.

His face _is_ frightfully red.

“Well, it’s nearly time for me to start,” she says walking up to him. His eyes widen and the poor, beaten bag gets another not so subtle nudge beneath the chair.

“But before I go I just have to,” she wraps her arms around his waist and kisses him softly to distract him from the fact that she is snaking her hand into the back of his jeans’ pocket, “do this,” she finishes victoriously yanking his wallet out of his pants, opening it up, extracting five crisp twenty dollar bills and handing them over to Arya.

“What?” he shouts affronted, snatching his wallet back out of her hands.

“What was that for? Why are you giving her my money?”

“Trust me, Jon,” she says as seriously as she can given the extreme ridiculousness of this situation, “She is definitely owed it.”

Jon sighs heavily. “Look, if this is about me not paying her for landing on Highgarden last night, one, it was just a game, no matter how far and dangerously it deviated from that description towards the end. And two, I’m not convinced that you’ve got the conversion rate right. There is no way 6000 monopoly dollars is the equivalent of one hundred real dollars,” he grumbles. “You know what,” he says pulling out his phone, “I’m going to check the internet. I bet someone has weighed in on this.”

As Jon fidgets with his phone muttering to himself she turns her attention to Arya who looks absolutely gleeful at getting the money.

Suddenly though, she’s looking down at it in confusion. She then springs her eyes back up to look to Dany, down to the money, then back up at Dany again shrewdly.

And Dany can see it, the realisation dawning slowly, doubtfully, slowly, but dawning all the same on her face before she breaks out into the widest grin. 

“ _You_?” She mouths at her, looking stunned.

Dany simply smiles and nods her head in the affirmative as Arya’s look turns from stunned to elated.

Dany takes a quick glance at Jon who is still grumbling and muttering to himself, shoving his wallet away and scrolling through his phone, before she turns back to Arya. She tilts her head in Jon’s direction then shakes it, putting her finger to her lips in a shushing gesture giving Arya a wink.

Arya nods frantically, grinning positively wickedly her eyes gleaming.

“Well,” she says loudly, making poor Jon jump again. “I’d better be going. Enjoy your _breakfast_ ,” she tells them both, and Arya very convincing hides a snort behind a cough.

“Aye, yep. Good luck with your talk,” says Jon. And for the first time since she’s known him he looks thrilled to be getting rid of her.

It would sting if she didn’t know why.

“Yeah, enjoy your talk, Dany. _Such_ a shame we won’t get to see it,” drawls Arya.

Dany pinches her side playfully as she walks back out of the room to the sound of Arya’s cackling laughter.

The time has come.

The moment he and Arya have been waiting for.

Tyrion Lannister, CEO of Little Lion Publishers, walks on stage and moves to stand in front of the podium placed there.

“Welcome, everyone,” he begins smiling grandly at the room at large. “It is so incredible to see you all here to support an amazing novel, an amazing series, an amazing author.”

Jon cannot contain himself. He’s so excited but he feels bad for Queen_Calli. She loves these books just as much as he does. And these were supposed to be her passes to this event. He sends her a quick message.

**EisSnow:** This is AMAZING. I can’t believe you gave me these passes. You wouldn’t believe how cool this is. It’s such a shame you aren’t here.

“It has been absolutely nothing short of the greatest of pleasures to work alongside this author to get the final book ready for publication.”

His phone buzzes and he looks down to see her reply, ignoring Arya’s curt nudge in his ribs for not paying full attention to the speech.

**Queen_Calli:** What makes you think I’m not here?

Huh? He whips his head around the room frantically, practically twisting it off his spine to look for… to look for… hell, he doesn’t know what he’s looking for. He has no idea what Queen_Calli looks like.

He settles for replying.

**EisSnow:** What? You’re here? Where? I thought you gave me the tickets because you couldn’t be here??

“Now, I know it is not me that you all came here to see today,”

His phone buzzes again.

**Queen_Calli:** _Technically_ I said I couldn’t be in the audience…

Buzz.

**Queen_Calli:** See you in a second…

Buzz.

**Queen_Calli:** Jon… ;)

What the fuck?

_How_ does Queen_Calli know his name?

Should he be worried?

Is she a stalker?

All this time he thought he was talking to the only existing sane A Song of Ice and Fire fan to just now find out that he might have to spend the rest of his life concerned about waking up in a bathtub full of ice missing a kidney.

Eh, fuck it. He’ll worry about that later because right now Tyrion Lannister is wrapping up his speech.

“And so, it is my great honour to introduce to you all my very dear friend, the inordinately talented D. S. Targ.”

Applause fills the room, but Jon’s ears are ringing, his vision tunnelling as Daenerys strides out onto the stage smiling widely. She does a quick, courteous sweep of the crowd with her eyes before she looks directly at him.

And winks.

Fucking winks.

His mind is buzzing.

_…‘ **Queen_Calli:** See you in a second…_

**_Queen_Calli:_ ** _Jon… ;)’…_

It can’t be. It can’t…

Daenerys, _his_ Daenerys is Queen_Calli?

Wait…

As she takes her place behind the podium his poor, sluggish, baffled brain which is doing its best to process an incredible amount of information finally catches up.

Daenerys.

_His_ Daenerys is…

Is…

His Daenerys is D. S. fucking Targ.

He marvels that he hadn’t figured it out sooner. Their names being so similar. He almost, _almost_ , berates himself for it before he stops.

Really, who the fuck could blame him for not realising?

Who in the world would have thought that a 32 years young, kitten scrub-top wearing, kick-ass paediatric surgeon was also moonlighting as a world renowned fantasy author?

Or was the fantasy author moonlighting as the surgeon?

Did she have any _other_ careers he should know about?

Was she also Banksy?

Was she Anonymous?

But most importantly… Most importantly of all… how the _fuck_ did he get so lucky to have this incredible, phenomenal, mysterious, talented, gorgeous, perfect woman as his girlfriend.

He watches in bare faced awe as Daenerys.

_His_ Daenerys, settles herself behind the podium.

“Welcome all, and thank you so much for being here. My name is Daenerys Targaryen,” she states strongly, as his heart sings with pride for her, “and this is a very big day for me. It is the day that I finally get to tell you all that that is my name, and that I am the author of A Song of Ice and Fire.” Her voice cracks slightly and even from his seat at the back of the room he can see her eyes glistening with tears. He desperately wants to rush the stage and gather her into his arms, but this is not the time. This is her moment and he’ll be damned if he spoils it for her. “Never in the ten years since the first book was released did I imagine that I would be able to stand up here and say that. I certainly could never have imagined this day years before that when I was outlining the series and writing the first book late at night and in between classes at university. But here we are.” She shrugs in that cute way she does when she’s overwhelmed. “It has been a long, difficult, rewarding, terrifying, wonderful, painful and exciting journey for me. I would like to take this moment to thank Tyrion Lannister for being such an excellent friend and a superlative editor. Tyrion,” she turns to him, and he can see how fond she is of him by the look in her eyes. “I could not have done this without you. I would also like to thank the most important people, the people who made me want to write even when I didn’t think I could. The people who graciously found a place in their hearts, and in their minds for this story. Those people, of course, are the fans of the books. Their ongoing support meant everything to me. _They_ mean everything to me.” She pauses here, with a soft smile on her face, her eyes looking directly at him and he’s pretty sure he’s going to cry. “Again, thank you all for coming today, I am truly humbled and honoured.”

As Daenerys steps away from the podium and moves to exit the stage the crowd begins to applause again, and Arya immediately jumps up to stand on top of her chair hooting and hollering, putting her fingers between her grinning teeth to wolf whistle loudly.

With only the slightest amount of hesitation he leaps up onto his own chair raising his arms high above his head clapping wildly and cheering.

Many members of the crowd turn to stare at them, looking at them like they are a pair of fucking hooligans but he really, really does not care.

That is his girlfriend.

And he could not be more proud to say so.

He could not be more proud _of her_.

Hearing them, Daenerys’ beautiful laugh rings bright and free as she smiles openly and adoringly at them, giving them a wave as she walks off the stage.

Once she has exited Tyrion Lannister moves behind the podium again and waits patiently for the noise and the chaos to die down.

Which takes some time.

Specifically, it takes some time for him and Arya to stop their squealing and shrieking. Only a very pointed, but definitely amused look from Tyrion Lannister finally gets them to calm down and climb down.

“It gives me untold joy to hear such enthusiastic support for Daenerys and her work. For far too long she had been forced to hide herself away while diligently toiling to provide us all with one of the most critically acclaimed fantasy series of our time. Thank you all so very much for being here today and providing her with the recognition she so justly deserves. Now, members of the press, if you would be so kind as to adjourn to room 3C, we have refreshments prepared and Daenerys will join you shortly to answer questions.”

With a nod and a smile Tyrion himself strolls off stage, and the crowd begins to pack up and disperse hastily, clearly all hopeful to be the first person in the next room, the first to get to question Daenerys Targaryen.

And soon it is just he and Arya left alone in the room.

He doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

He feels like his brain still hasn’t caught up with all the information it has just been inundated with.

All this time.

All this time he had been _terrified_ that Daenerys would find out about his obsession with A Song of Ice and Fire to now discover that…

It still beggars belief.

He’d thought he had three people, outside of his family that were important to the make up of his life:

He had his favourite author.

He had his online BFF.

He had his wonderful girlfriend.

And now…

Well, fuck…

Now it turns out that they are all one in the same and he might literally be the luckiest man in the entire world.

But he’s still not quite sure what they should do now. He wants to sprint through this Hotel until he finds Daenerys so that he can hoist her into his arms, climb to the rooftop carrying her, and scream so loudly, so loudly so that all of Kings Landing can hear it, that she is his girlfriend and that he loves her.

But she had obligations in the other room. He and Arya aren’t press. He doubts they’ll be able to slink in their way in there.

He turns to Arya who is twitching and fidgeting like she’s just been hit with the paddles such is her excitement.

He frowns slightly.

She looks excited, yes… but... but, she doesn’t look surprised.

“You don’t seem particularly shocked that my girlfriend is the author of our favourite book series,” he accuses her, wary.

Have these two been plotting against him? He’s never going to have a minutes peace in his life if they continue to get along this famously.

Arya merely smirks at him and, in lieu of answering, she pulls out the five crisp $20 notes running her thumb over them making them flutter.

“I figured it out as soon as Dany gave me the money. She wanted me to keep quiet though, wanted it to be a surprise for you,” she bursts out laughing, “and from the look on your face when she walked out on to that stage you certainly were surprised.”

“You little rat,” he growls, “You knew?”

“Oh fuck off with your hurt feelings. I only knew about ten minutes before you did. What I don’t understand though is how Dany knew about our bet. I thought you’d made it a point to never, ever mention the books or anything related to them to her.”

He laughs then.

What else can he do in the face of all this absolute absurdity?

“No, _Dany_ didn’t know about our bet, but Queen_Calli did.”

“Is Dany friends with Queen_Calli too then? Is that how Queen_Calli got us these passes?”

He’s laughing harder now, “Dany isn’t _friends_ with Queen_Calli. Dany _is_ Queen_Calli. All this time, all this time I thought I was talking to another fan when I’ve actually been talking to D. S. Targ,” his laughter grows impossibly even more out of control, “All this time I thought I was talking to a fan, who was actually D. S. Targ, who was actually my girlfriend.”

“ _That_ ,” states Arya, “is some serious meant to be, fate shit, right there.”

But, before they can get even further into that Daenerys walks into the room carrying a canvas tote looking both trepidatious and excited.

“Well,” she says smiling sheepishly, “The secret is out now.”

Her nerves are allayed instantly by Jon thundering towards her and wrapping his arms tight around her middle, squeezing her like his life depends on it.

“I can’t believe my girlfriend is my fucking penpal.” He barks out, amused, once he’s let her go. And when he pulls back she can see that he is beaming at her.

It breaks the tension beautifully and she giggles merrily in response.

“ _That’s_ the revelation that you want to lead with?” she teases him.

“Well, I _was_ going to say ‘I can’t believe my girlfriend is the greatest fucking author in the world’, but that seemed a bit too braggy, so I thought I’d ease into it.”

She smacks him playfully on the shoulder feeling light, buoyant.

But the weight in her hands brings her back down to earth and her nerves swallow her up again.

“I, ummm….”

Shit she’s phenomenally anxious. Even though she really, really has no reason to be anymore.

After all the agonising, all the worrying, it turns out that Jon, her perfect, wonderful Jon had been her greatest supporter since before she even knew him.

He’s still doing it now. Looking at her softy, waiting patiently for whatever it is she is about to say. She’ll never know what she did to be lucky enough to have him in her life. But she damned well knows that she would never give him up without a fight.

She certainly won’t let her nerves get in the way of this.

“I had, ummm… I had these printed especially for you. Not EisSnow,” she clarifies hastily, “ _You_. I left the copies I was going to give to EisSnow out the back. You could have knocked me over with a feather when I realised that they were actually you.”

“Imagine my bloody surprise then,” he grins at her.

She smiles back gently, but she has to push forward before she loses her courage.

And, she has to explain.

“I was going to give them to you tomorrow when we were alone. I… I wanted to tell you sooner. About… about me, and the books. I promise, I _promise_ I did. But I was so worried that you would think I was a massive dork and never give me the time of day. Then you _did_ give me the time of day and I was so worried that you’d dump me for being a massive dork. Now, however,” and she manages to smirk through her nerves, “I’m not so concerned about that.”

He chuffs a laugh in response to that.

Then, with trembling hands she passes him the bag containing the pile of all five of her books. All of which, she is proud to say, bear her full name.

He pulls them out and handles them as gently as he would a new born, giving each one his full attention, and on each one – nearly driving her to tears – he reverently runs his fingers over the words ‘Daenerys S. Targaryen.’

“Daenerys,” he says softly once he is finished with his very thorough and worshipful inspection, “Thank you.”

Okay, you can do this, Dany.

No turning back now.

“Look at the dedication, in the…”

“In the last one,” he finishes for her. “You never did a dedication before that.”

She barks out a startled little laugh.

“Sorry,” she giggles, “I forgot that I was talking to someone who is probably more of an expert on me than I am on myself.”

He swoops down and kisses her cheek firmly, “And don’t you dare forget it. It has been my mission for two years to be the foremost expert on Daenerys Targaryen. Luckily for me, I just so happened to get a head start without even knowing that that is what I was doing.”

How, _how_ can one man be so sweet, and so perfect?

Perhaps this isn’t going to go as badly as the mean part of her brain tries to convince her it will.

Jon gently places the first four books on his chair consumed with adoration for the amazing, thoughtful woman who gave them to him.

Then he opens the last one to the first page and goes to read the dedication.

**_‘I_ ** _would, first and foremost, like to thank every single reader who has joined me on this long,_

_and winding journey around Gaianus._

****

_**L** ike I hope you have, I have experienced the ups and downs, triumphs and losses of all of the _

_characters._

**_O_** _f course, I understand that many have their favourites, but please know that every_ _character, no matter how large or small their part, each played an important role in how the story was constructed, and ultimately, how it ends._

 **_V_** _aried though their trials may have been, each was integral._

 **_E_** _very single one of them._

****

**_Y_** _ou are about to embark on the final chapter of this series._

 **_O_** _nwards, and to the end._

 **_U_** _nified now that the series is complete, and I hope you enjoy what is to come._

**_J_** _ust as I enjoyed writing it._

 **_O_** _n that note, I would like to express my gratitude to the people who have encouraged and_

_inspired me to write these past ten years._

**_N_** _ever would this have happened without their unwavering faith, and support._

**_S_** _o, thank you – you know who you are._

 **_N_** _ow, if you are still reading this, I imagine you are anxious to get to the story, so I will not_

_delay you much longer._

**_O_** _nly one book remains, and it is in your hands right now._

 **_W_** _hatever you think, or feel about it, I am grateful, that you stuck with me all this time.’_

His brows are furrowed in confusion by the end of it. He doesn’t understand why Daenerys had wanted him to read this. He’d thought, since she’d had these copies printed especially for him that she might have written a different dedication.

But she hasn’t.

He doesn’t want to offend her, but she is obviously expecting something if her nervous lip twisting is anything to go by.

“I don’t, I don’t get it, Daenerys.” He says as softly as he can hoping against hope that she won’t be hurt. “It’s just the same dedication.”

At this point, Arya, who had been unashamedly snooping over his shoulder the whole time shoves him hard, and abruptly.

“Look at it again, you dolt. Jesus wept, I can’t believe they let you operate on people with your lack of attention to detail. Look at it properly.” She implores him.

Huh.

Arya _never_ implores, she demands. So he takes this task very seriously.

He looks at it again and gasps.

Acrostic.

_Acrostic_.

She’d… she’d…

She’s looking at him.

Waiting.

Her face a perfect storm of trepidation and adoration. 

And all he can do is sweep her up into his arms and spin her around and around until they are both dizzy and breathless.

“I love you too, Daenerys. I love you so much. I… I… fuck if I were a writer too – and since this is a day if revelations, know that I _am not_ , you now officially know all of my identities and aliases. Please, for the love of God, tell me that I know all of yours too,” she giggles and nods, her smile enough to light up the entire world.

“If I were a writer too, I would write a million, a billion, a trillion, an infinity words detailing how much I love you. But since I’m not a writer you’re just going to have to settle for three words.”

“I,” he kisses her left cheek.

“Love,” he kisses her right cheek.

“You,” he kisses her soft, sweet, smiling lips.

“I love you too,” she sighs out breathlessly.

“Oh, I know,” he says pulling away and waving the book around, “and so do over 15 million people who have bought this book. This has to be one of the most public declarations of love ever,” he finishes smugly, grinning.

Arya it seems, has now officially had enough of being ignored and nudges herself into their space.

“I can’t believe my sister is the author of A Song of Ice and Fire,” she exclaims grinning at Daenerys.

Jon chokes on nothing.

“She’s not your sister.” He says, begging her with his eyes not to make this anymore awkward for him.

But when has Arya ever responded to begging?

She merely waves a carefree hand in the air as though batting away a fly. ”Psssch. Semantics. _Fine_. I can’t believe my sister in law is the author of A Song of Ice and Fire.”

“She’s not that either.” He squeaks in an embarrassingly pitchy tone.

Though, he is pleased to note that Daenerys, while obviously amused by Arya, doesn’t look at all horrified by the prospect, nor adverse to the idea. On the contrary, she looks rather pleased.

That will be something to think about later.

Who is he kidding? He’ll be thinking about it constantly until it becomes a reality.

“Not yet.” Arya replies cheekily.

Then, mercifully, for once in her goddamned life Arya finally seems to have realised that she may have created some kind of tension. So she announces cheerfully, “I’m gonna go head into the other room and get me some merch. Surely they’ll let the _family_ of the author into the room. Unless... Dany you can probably score me all the free merch I could ever want right?” 

“Stop trying to use my girlfriend,” he scolds, shoving her. “If anyone is getting free merch it’s me. You can have my hand-me-down merch,” he teases her.

Arya scoffs.

“Like you need any more merch,” she says slyly, backing away from them. “Hey, Dany, ask him to show you his Funko photo shoot. If he won’t, know that I’d be _more_ than willing to oblige…”

And before he can get his hands around her scrawny neck she’s sprinted off.

And then it’s just him and Daenerys.

Well, not really.

It’s him, Daenerys, EisSnow, Queen_Calli, and D. S. Targ.

D. S. Targ.

Fuck.

It’s going to take him a very, very long time to process that one.

“I still can’t believe that _you_ are D. S. Targ, my favourite author” he tells her, his voice filled with awe.

She laughs softly and grabs both his hands in hers holding them warmly, gently, lovingly.

She’s so perfect.

And she’s _his_.

“Daenerys Targaryen,” he says, “I’m your biggest fan.”

She smiles giddily at him.

And as she moves closer, wrapping her arms around him and looking up into his face, her eyes filled with nothing but love, she says “Well, I’m yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long, long time comin'
> 
> I know. 
> 
> Thank you to those who have stuck with the story and let me know that you have had a nice time reading it.
> 
> Your comments mean more to me than I can even express. Know that I am inordinately grateful for all of you. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter :)
> 
> One more to go...
> 
> Gotta admit, I'm going to miss having this one to write...
> 
> Banner made by the wonderful turner-cris on tumblr

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading


End file.
